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Book 5-b2^ 5 A 

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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 


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AGNES CHESWICK 


A NOVEL 


BY 

MRS. W. E. RAYMOND 


NEW YORK : 

ISAAC H. BLANCHARD COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 

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THE LIBRARY Of 
GONGRESS, 
Two Coi^iea KtcovE® 

JAN. 13 1902 

Coi»v^m<JHT ENTRY 

CLASS a, XX(X No. 

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COPY a 


Copyrighted, 1901, 

By Mrs. W, E. Raymond 


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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER page 

I. Introductory, - - - . 5 

II. Fresh Influences, - - - 16 

III. Advancement, - - - - 25 

IV. In a Dream, - - - - 28 

V. Led by Circumstances, - - 33 

VI. Eleanor, 43 

VII. The Sun Gone Down, - - 51 

VIII. Measuring Arms, - - - 57 

IX. Defeat, - - - - 64 

X. The Unencumbered Field, - 71 

XL The First Bound, - - - 74 

XII. Open Hostility, - - - 78 

XIII. An Accident, - - - - 82 


XIV. Dark and Dreary Utterances, 87 

XV. The Mystery Brought to Light, 90 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

XVI. 

The Return to Life, 

PAGE 

- 93 

XVII. 

Receiving Instructions, - 

- 97 

XVIII. 

Dark Clouds, - 

- 103 

XIX. 

A Visit to the Rectory, - 

- 107 

XX. 

United, - . . , 

- Ill 

XXL 

Light after Darkness, - 

- 1 16 

XXII. 

True Love, 

- 123 


AGNES CHESWICK 


CHAPTER I. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

Two men were walking slowly along the quiet 
country road. It was a perfect evening in mid- 
summer. One was a man not much past middle 
life, yet looked already old. He could not be 
called handsome, but there was such an air of 
kindly geniality in his whole appearance that one 
could not help feel attracted to him. He strolled 
on, his eyes fixed upon the ground. If Dr. 
Heathcliff looked older than he really was, his 
companion. Forest Gale, enjoyed the distinction 
of looking younger. He was really not aware 
that though just thirty, he looked no more than 
five and twenty. His face was an exceedingly 
pleasant one. In figure he was unusually tall, 
well made and spare. He was the only child of 
a retired manufacturer, and had been educated 


AGNES CHESWICK 


to take his father’s place in the commercial world. 
With this end in view, he had been placed at an 
ordinary middle-class school, but withdrawn from 
his studies when he was beginning to understand 
the value of them, and put into “the business,” 
and had attained his majority, and was about to 
be received as his father’s junior partner when 
the elder Gale died, leaving the son sole master 
of his enormous wealth. 

Perhaps it was well for Mr. Gale that he died 
before knowing the deep and growing distaste of 
his son for the business of which he was so proud. 
Forest had done his father’s will in choosing his 
career in life partly because he had a curiosity 
to know how a large business was carried on, and 
partly because he was prepared to give up a part 
of his life to please his father, but he had never 
planned to make business the pursuit of his whole 
life. He had always intended to give it up upon 
his father’s death, and as soon as possible after 
that event he wound up his affairs, retired from 
his former haunts, and began life more in ac- 
cordance with his own tastes. Fie traveled, stud- 
ied and observed. The result was, after eight 
years of unsettled existence, he bought an estate 
in the neighborhood of Derbyshire. On first com- 


6 


AGNES CHESWICK 


ing there he met Mr. Cheswick, one of the mag- 
nates of the place, who had taken a fancy to him, 
and at whose house he was staying until his own 
had been put into proper repair. The very day 
he went to Mr. Cheswick’s he met Dr. Heathcliff 
there, and in spite of the disparity of years the 
two men had at once struck a sympathetic vein. 
This evening Gale had been dining with the doc- 
tor, and they had strolled out to taste the fresh- 
ness of the evening. They had hardly spoken 
since leaving the house, and it was Gale, who, in 
the tone of a man continuing an interrupted con- 
versation, broke the silence by saying : 

“Then you really do think Miss Cheswick has 
some reason for the warlike attitude she main- 
tains towards her family 

The doctor replied with a half smile : 

“Poor, little Agnes ! Yes, she has reason, cer- 
tainly.’^ 

“If you were the true friend you call yourself,” 
said his companion, “you would unravel the mys- 
tery for me, as a guest at The Elms, I cannot 
very well talk about it to Miss Cheswick. An 
explanation would necessitate my taking one side 
or the other and I cannot do that. I cannot say 
Mrs. Cheswick shows much tact or any great 


7 


AGNES CHESWICK 


sense of justice in her dealing with her daughter ; 
but neither does Miss Cheswick appear to meet 
her mother half way. At the same time she is so 
evidently unhappy that I feel very sorry for her.” 

“I see,” said the doctor, ‘‘you won’t offer your 
sympathy to the daughter, because it might excite 
hostile feelings against the father, whose guest 
you are. You coolly deliberate whether, after all, 
she is not more sinning than sinned against, and 
finally you declare your wish to hear all the facts 
that you may pronounce judgment with perfect 
impartiality.” 

Gale burst out laughing as the doctor finished. 

“Well,” he said presently, “you must own there 
is strife enough in the family without m}^ adding 
to it. I only wish to observe, more in sorrow 
than in anger, that you might have spared me the 
trouble of asking by letting me into the secret of 
it all. You are an old friend of the family and 
ought to know the whole thing by heart.” 

“So I do,” observed the doctor, reflectively, 
“Agnes is a special favorite of mine, so what 
could I do better than tell all the secrets of her 
life to the first stranger who happens to come in 
my way?” 

“lam not a stranger now, and I am very much 


8 


AGNES CHESWICK 


interested in Miss Cheswick, and have been ever 
since I knew her. 1 , at least, have a right to 
come to one of her warm friends for particulars.” 

Dr. Heathcliff smiled as he said: “Yes, her 
enemies are my enemies, too. It may not be pru- 
dent, but I do encourage her. I would not advise 
her to yield, besides, why should she yield ? She 
is not in the wrong.” 

“You let your affection run away with your 
judgment,” rejoined Gale quietly. 

“Possibly — I cannot deny that I love Agnes as 
if she were my own child, I have always felt con- 
strained to keep an eye on her, partly for her 
mother’s sake, who was one of the most charm- 
ing women I ever knew. Agnes is her image.” 

“You knew her then? Of course I knew the 
present Mrs. Cheswick is only Agnes’s step- 
mother, and I have felt curious about her own 
mother, but I have never heard her mention her.” 

“You shall know her whole story,” said Dr. 
Heathcliff. “Cheswick and I are the same age, 
and have known each other from childhood. 
Twenty-one years ago he married. His bride did 
not belong to this country. She was a sweet 
creature, and when I say a sweet creature, I don’t 
mean a woman who went about with a face like 


9 


AGNES CHESWICK 


a professional martyr and an angelic smile. I 
have seen women like that called sweet creatures. 
Mrs. Cheswick was very beautiful, with the 
brightest eyes and most spirited face I ever saw. 
What an intelligence she had ! When I think of 
it I am tempted to rebel against the seeming 
waste of nature which could allow an intelligence 
like hers to perish before it had time to show 
itself in all its fulness, and just when that hap- 
pened which would have developed it as nothing 
else could have done. It was deplorable.” 

He paused, lost in thought, and looked as if he 
would not continue his story. Gale recalled him 
to himself with affected cynicism. 

“Oh, the old story, I suppose. A misunder- 
stood wife pining away into an early grave for 
want of the excitement of being appreciated.” 

“Ah,” said the doctor, “those things may be 
truly said of other women, but nothing could be 
more erroneous as regards her. Her husband 
adored her. He had the intelligence to under- 
stand her rare merit. She could not have loved 
him. She must have seen he was inferior to her. 
And a woman cannot love a man who is her in- 
ferior. She may have had an affection for him, 
but there is a wide world between affection and 


xo 


AGNES CHESWICK 


love. We may feel an affection for many, but 
our souls are so formed we can have only one 
love. For one year she was in the house like a 
radiant being from another world— then it came 
to an end — she died.’’ 

Gale experienced a kind of shock from the very 
abruptness of the announcement, and repeated al- 
most helplessly : 

“She died?” 

“Yes; a few days after Agnes was born. She 
had been going or. so well, and then all at once 
the turn came, and she was dead in a few hours. 
Cheswick was away ; only I was with her, and I 
pray I may never be present at such a deathbed 
again.” 

“She did not want to die ?” said Gale. 

“Want!” echoed Dr. Heathcliff almost sharply. 
“It was despair ; she had been almost beside her- 
self with joy when the child was born, and was 
so glad it was a girl. It seemed as if the very 
force of her love for it must have kept her alive, 
but she died — died in the middle of a magnificent 
summer day, alone, but for servants and myself. 
Her mother had gone home supposing she was 
no longer needed. She was so anxious to see her 
husband before she died, and give the child into 

n 


AGNES CHESWICK 


his keeping, and make some arrangements for its 
future. That was her bitterest thought, that her 
child should be given to a stepmother. But she 
had been dead an hour when he came. He was 
inconsolable at first — you know the style : would 
see no one nor speak to any one: and behaved 
altogether in rather maniacal fashion. At the end 
of three months he had been persuaded to come 
out of his seclusion and to travel. At the end of 
a year he wrote to have the house made ready for 
himself and his new bride. He had never been 
able to bear the sight of the child after his wife’s 
death, and I believe that in his wanderings abroad 
he had forgotten her ; for I shall never forget his 
face when he saw her again. Of one thing I am 
certain — ^he had never mentioned her to his wife ; 
and from what you have seen of that lady’s char- 
acter you may judge for yourself if she was 
pleased either at his omission or her discovery. 
No doubt the child was the cause of many a pri- 
vate scene. It was not until Mrs. Cheswick’s own 
family began to grow up that Agnes came promi- 
nently into notice, and became the open object of 
her stepmother’s jealousy and ill will. She is one 
of those women whose maternal instincts never 
develop unless they become mothers themselves. 


12 


AGNES CHESWICK 


and then their affection is exclusively for their 
own children. She has an immense amount of 
family pride and lofty ideas concerning the posi- 
tion of the eldest of the family. She could never 
forgive Agnes for having been before her own 
children in coming into the world. The servants 
are all fond of Agnes ; her nurse was chosen by 
her mother. As the children grew older the posi- 
tion became more complicated. What Eleanor 
was old enough to do must of necessity be per- 
mitted to Agnes. If Eleanor at seventeen were 
sufficiently instructed to leave the school room, 
it would have been ridiculous to keep Agnes 
there, who was two years older. When all their 
friends would persist in distinguishing between 
‘Miss Cheswick’ and ‘Miss Eleanor,’ it was very 
painful. There was never any sympathy between 
Agnes and her stepmother, that you must have 
seen at once.” 

“Of course,” replied Forest. “All that you 
have said is comprehensible enough as regards 
Mrs. Cheswick, but it does not account for 
Cheswick’s indifference to his own child, the 
daughter of a woman whom you say he adored.” 

“The very reason. He knows that he failed in 
his duty to the child from the beginning. He 


13 


AGNES CHESWICK 


feels that he ought to have been true to the mem- 
ory of his first wife. He had not the strength 
to resist this woman’s attractions. He knows he 
has fallen, and he would like to forget that he 
ever stood higher. If you have any knowledge 
of human nature you will know Agnes is a con- 
tinual reminder. What does a man in Ches- 
wick’s position know of the character of his 
daughter ?” 

‘True,” said Forest. “Then your theory is 
that the whole difficulty arises from an inability 
on either side to read the character of the other ?” 

“Partly only; I think Agnes reads the others 
pretty well, but they have not the most elementary 
comprehension of her character. They tell you 
no one can get on with Agnes ; she is so queer.” 

“And is she?” 

“She has peculiarities, of course. Who, that is 
worth anything, has not. What are peculiarities 
but the inequalities of character that break the 
dead level of conventionality and monotony? 
Every little grace and beauty of character be- 
longing to one person alone is a peculiarity. 
Naturally there is nothing which is so bitterly re- 
sented by those who do not possess them.” 


14 


AGNES CHESWICK 

“And this second girl, Eleanor, who is away, 
I have heard she is very beautiful ; is it so 

“She is marvelously beautiful.” 

They were both silent, till the doctor raised his 
head and nodded in the direction of a young girl 
who was coming towards them, as he said : “Ah, 
here comes Agnes now.” 


15 


CHAPTER II. 


FRESH INFLUENCES. 

As the doctor spoke, the girl, who had been 
walking slowly along with her eyes bent on the 
ground, raised them, and, seeing the two men, 
she made a little gesture of recognition with her 
hand. Then, quickening her pace, she joined 
them in a moment, and put her hand into the out- 
stretched hand of the elder. 

‘‘Good evening, doctor,” she said, with a smile. 
“It is three days since I saw you. What have you 
been doing?” 

“Going about my daily work, but my dear 
child, where are you going? Why are you so 
flushed?” 

A low-voiced conversation took place between 
them. Gale, seeing that his presence was super- 
fluous, withdrew a few steps and began to con- 
sider the face and figure of the young girl who 
had joined them. 

She was small, of slender and delicate build. 

i6 


AGNES CHESWICK 


She had that creamy complexion which is tinged 
with color only in moments of exercise. Her 
teeth and hair were faultless, the latter being one 
a chestnut color, tinged with gold, fine, silky and 
abundant. She wore it carefully wreathed around 
her head in a manner peculiar to herself. Her 
eyes were her chief beauty ; eyes that could ex- 
press every emotion from the most perfect ten- 
derness to the fiercest scorn. They were large 
and dark and clear, full of fire and shaded by 
long lashes. What struck people most was her 
high-bred air, and the wonderful grace of all 
movements. All her features were fine and clear. 
As the conversation between the two seemed 
likely to last for some time, he began to try to 
put some order into his thoughts. This was their 
conversation : 

'‘What ruffled your temper, Agnes ?” 

"Oh, mamma took advantage of Mr. Gale’s ab- 
sence to read me a lecture. They are angry be- 
cause I refused that offer of marriage last sum- 
mer. That man has written to papa, and he took 
the opportunity to mention it when we three were 
alone. I tried to keep cool, but mamma began to 
talk of ingratitude and all such stuff. I could 
hold in no longer. I said what I thought of girls 


17 


AGNES CHESWICK 


of twenty marrying men of fifty. So papa re- 
quested me to leave the room and give him a 
proper answer before I went to bed.” 

“Try, for my sake, Agnes, to govern your im- 
pulses and be content with the consciousness of 
right. They can’t make you marry this man.” 

“If I could do anything it would be for you,” 
she replied in a low, subdued tone. He took her 
hand and held it tightly as though to give her 
courage. Apparently he succeeded, for she re- 
turned the pressure and said more bravely. 

“I am^ so glad I met you. I behaved so fool- 
ishly — expect because I had not seen you for so 
long. Don’t let it be so many days again, doc- 
tor.” 

“I have been too busy to call even at The 
Elms. But this evening I am at liberty, and will 
walk home with you.” 

“We will go now,” said Agnes. 

“Gale,” said Dr. Heathcliff, come on, we are 
going back to The Elms.” 

They walked along almost in silence. As they 
were passing the doctor’s house, a man appeared 
to be in eager conversation with one of the maid 
servants. The doctor saw at a glance that his 
services were needed somewhere. 

i8 


AGNES CHESWICK 


“I am sorry/' said he, “I shall have to leave 
you, Gale. Take Miss Cheswick home. Good 
night to you both.” He was gone. 

Agnes spoke first. “Let us go on, Mr. Gale, 
I want to get home.” 

“I beg your pardon,” said Gale, “how could 
I be so thoughtless as to let you stand here? 
Lean on me,” he finished impulsively. 

She accepted his arm, and when they had gone 
a little way, said : “I think you and Dr. Heath- 
cliff get on.” 

“Yes, he seems able to tolerate me, and I feel 
a due amount of elation at the thought, because I 
do not fancy he has many confidants.” 

“No ; he is more popular among the poor than 
the rich. You cannot imagine how good he is to 
them. I do not know what they would do with- 
out him.” Just then they turned a corner in the 
road and came in sight of The Elms, residence of 
Archibald Cheswick. 

It was a large and entirely modern house, 
standing on high ground, with no trees imme- 
diately surrounding it, and though handsomely 
built, with many plate-glass windows, the effect 
of the whole was stiff and unpleasant. Nothing 
had been left to nature. Every flower bore signs 


19 


AGNES CHESWICK 


of being under the care and control of man. Not 
a weed defiled the perfect order of the well-rolled 
gravel paths. 

Agnes shrugged her shoulders as she looked 
towards the mansion, and said : 

“My grandfather built this house; papa saw 
nothing which needed improvement when he came 
into it. See how they light the gas and crowd 
into it on a perfect summer evening.’’ 

“Well, I suppose they like it. Why interfere 
with their liberty?” 

“I am willing to respect it if they will respect 
mine,” was her answer. 

Gale said nothing ; he did not know what Agnes 
and the doctor had been talking of, only he had a 
vague idea that she had been in trouble that even- 
ing and that further disaster was hanging over 
her head. She did not speak again until they 
were inside, and then, as they paused to lay 
aside their hats, she said : 

“I am going to ask you to do me a favor. I 
want you not to come into the drawing room with 
me now. I have an answer to make to papa 
which would not be very interesting to you. So 
if you would not mind going into the billiard 


AGNES CHESWICK 


room, I will come and tell you when you can 
come in.’" 

She smiled, and he saw that in the few mo- 
ments since they had entered the house her face 
had undergone a great change. Before she had 
been looking subdued and depressed, now her 
eyes were bright ; she carried her head erect and 
her whole bearing was full of spirit. 

“Do not trouble for me,” he said, as he let one 
admiring glance rest on her before they parted. 
Agnes went into the drawing room. There were 
only two persons there — Mr. and Mrs. Cheswick. 
Her father was a tall man with a narrow forehead 
and thin lips. His features were regular and well 
cut, but almost devoid of expression. He was 
reading. Mrs. Cheswick was working, and the 
light fell strongly upon her face, showing every 
feature. Even in repose her lips were curved 
into a sneer. A quiver of dislike shook Agnes as 
her eyes rested upon her stepmother. She went 
forward until she stood close by her father, and 
said, “Papa.” 

Mr. Cheswick looked up from his paper with a 
frown. 

“Well,” was his reply in an ungracious tone. 

“You told me to give you my answer this 


21 


AGNES CHESWICK 


evening. I have not changed my mind. I shall 
not marry Mr. Marston.” 

“Very well ; it is your own affair.’’ 

So far as he was concerned the subject was at 
an end, but Mrs. Cheswick had listened to the 
little dialogue. 

As Agnes was moving away she spoke : 

“As usual, Agnes, you think only of yourself. 
You profess to be unhappy here, but when a 
chance comes for you to get away, you let it slip. 
Perhaps you think you have only to pick and 
choose like Eleanor. You forget that you have 
not her beauty. It was your duty to accept Mr. 
Marston. You seem to forget that I have been 
a mother to you since you were a baby, and it is 
now your duty to repay me by gratitude and 
obedience.” 

Agnes’s lips parted in a smile, as she said : 
“Do not suppose I shall marry contrary to my 
inclinations to save your reputation as a step- 
mother.” 

There was neither rudeness or want of respect 
in her tone and manner, and when she had fin- 
ished, she moved towards the door. 

“Where are you going?” asked Mrs. Ches- 
wick. 


22 


AGNES CHESWICK 


“To tell Mr. Gale he can come in. He came 
home with me and I asked him to wait until this 
had passed over.” 

Before Mrs. Cheswick could give expression to 
her feelings of outraged propriety Agnes had left 
the room. 

A day or two later Agnes and Forest were 
lounging on the lawn. It was a peaceful summer 
afternoon, and Agnes had suggested this mode 
of spending the time. Forest had expected some 
astounding piece of intelligence as the result, but 
he heard nothing more surprising than this : 

“You remember my telling you about Eleanor, 
my sister? That you would not see her till the 
end of this month, as she is in London for the 
season with her aunt?” 

'T remember it perfectly, because you had told 
me of her wondrous beauty.” 

“I do not like her,”, said Agnes, “but she is 
beautiful. You will fall captive to her — every- 
body does. But now you will have to look for- 
ward a little longer. She will not be home until 
October, as she is going with her aunt to the 
Continent.” 

“Have you ever been on the Continent?” 


23 


AGNES CHESWICK 


“I have been nowhere scarcely beyond Derby- 
shire all my life.” 

^‘Your traveling days are to come yet,” was his 
somewhat commonplace offer of comfort. 

wonder what you will think of Eleanor; 
though I can guess when you begin by setting 
beauty above everything.” 

“You are very unfair; there is something I set 
very high above beauty.” 

“How should I know your pet vanities? Tell 
me.” 

“Intelligence,” he said, looking rather fixedly 
at her. 

“I knew it was intelligence, said she, smiling to 
herself and not looking at him. 

“Where are you going,” he asked, rising, as he 
saw her get up. 

“Into the house to see about something I had 
forgotten.” 

She went away, leaving him in uncertainty, and 
he resumed his recumbent attitude on the ground 
and gave himself up to reflections which were a 
little disturbed by the ever-recurring question: 
“Will she come back ?” 


24 


CHAPTER III. 


ADVANCEMENT. 

The feeling which had remained uppermost in 
Forest’s mind after hearing all Dr. Heathcliff 
had to tell him of Agnes was pity. He was by 
nature tender and chivalrous ; he would not have 
given an instant’s pain or suffering to anything 
weaker than himself. To give a woman a mo- 
ment’s anxiety would have been impossible for 
him. So when he found that through no fault of 
her own, Agnes was on one side, and her father, 
mother and sisters on the other, his sympathies 
went with her. Had she been different from 
what she was his sympathy might have been 
dulled, but his heart was smitten with pity for 
this small, delicate creature, who had such a hard 
battle to fight. Nothing so decisive as a battle 
either; a battle once fought is lost or won. His 
sorrow for her began to take a practical form. 
He began to wish he could do something to al- 
leviate her fate. ‘Tt is an awful life,” he thought. 


25 


AGNES CHESWICK 


^‘Awful, for I see no end to it unless she marries. 
She has no fortune, and a girl like her cannot go 
out and earn her own living. Women have a 
hard time of it. I am glad I am not a woman, 
and when they love it is so different from man s 
love. Man knows not love — such love as woman 
feels. In him it is a vast devouring flame— re- 
sistless ; fed — in its own strength consumed. In . 
woman’s heart it enters step by step, concealed, 
disowned, until its gentler ray breathes forth a 
light,' illumining her world. Man loves not for 
repose ; he woos the flower to wear it as the vic- 
tor’s trophied crown ; whilst woman, when she ^ 
glories in her love, moves like the dove, in noise- 
less constancy, watches the nest of her affection 
till ’tis shed upon the tomb of him she loves. But 
this is not putting my plan into execution. I 
must do something to help her. I cannot bear to 
see her looking as she looks to-day. 

The weeks flew by until it was the beginning 
of September. Forest had long ago left The 
Elms and taken up his abode at Sunnyside. There 
was a growing intimacy between Forest and 
Agnes. They had become fast friends, and 
argued and disputed in the way which is only 
permissible to fast friends. Their characters har- 


36 


AGNES CHESWICK 


monized curiously. Forest had come to consider 
that life without Agnes would be a very incom- 
plete and one-sided affair. If they were to be 
separated he would find her loss irreparable. As 
he rode back to Sunnyside one Autumn afternoon, 
when the bare boughs were sighing, the pale 
flowers dying, and the spirit of coming winter 
was stealing like a ghost through the trees, he 
was thinking of Agnes, and, realizing what an 
important place she already occupied in his life, 
he felt that he wanted to know that he could 
have her, see her, touch her, and speak to her 
every minute of the day. There was only one 
way of accomplishing this, but as he thought his 
brow clouded, for he was by no means sure that 
Agnes felt that absolute need of his society, 
which he was conscious of in regard to hers. If 
she did, she concealed it, for she seemed to find 
life bearable without him. He pondered over it 
as he rode along and decided that before speak- 
ing the words which sooner or later he would 
speak, he would study Agnes a little longer and 
try to find out what her real feelings were. 


27 


CHAPTER IV. 


IN A DREAM. 

It was a perfect autumn afternoon as Agnes 
walked across to a small island, her favorite re- 
sort. She went quickly and carelessly so long as 
she was on the rocks. Once on the sands her 
face changed and she went very slowly, keeping 
a sharp lookout for anything like quicksand. She 
reached the island at last and seated herself on a 
large rock. She had come to this lonely place for 
a set purpose, namely, to give herself a good 
moral bracing. So she soliloquized. ‘"He likes 
me, and we are friends; but we shall never be 
anything more. Somehow I do not have it in me 
to inspire people with a very deep attachment. It 
will all be over in one month, for then Eleanor 
will come home. I shall have to behave as if I 
see no change, and I am not sure I shall be able 
to. I wonder if I shall ever learn not to act upon 
impulse. I made such good resolutions at first, 
because I knew he would only care for me as 


28 


AGNES CHESWICK 


long as he could compare me with no one else. 
I kept my resolution for so long, and then he 
was so kind and pleasant I could not help liking 
him. At last, I threw prudence to the winds, and 
thought I would have one pleasant summer in my 
life at any rate. I have enjoyed myself as I never 
did before. I did not think it would be so hard 
to give up at the end.” 

Her face had grown thoughtful and sad as 
these thoughts passed through her mind, and 
presently she went on : 

“If I only felt sure he really loved me. How- 
ever, time will show. But should I win his love, 
it will only be for a time, for it is one thing to at- 
tract a man and another to keep him. It needs a 
wise woman to keep what she has attracted. I 
am not wise, I am so feeble, always longing for 
the impossible.” 

She felt alone in the world. Her mind reached 
out to him. All that was noble within her; all 
that was spiritual ; all her love went out to him. 
She loved him with the breath, smiles and tears 
of all her life. She remained for some time lost 
in thought, heedless of time and tide. She was 
considerably surprised to find on rousing herself 
that the sun was low and the tide coming stead- 


29 


AGNES CHESWICK 


ily in. She sat up and looked about with a view 
to returning home. The tide came creeping in 
to a certain point, then a wave suddenly arose 
and with a bound filled every curve of the island. 
Agnes saw she was a prisoner till the tide turned. 

“How angry they will be when I do not come 
to dinner. It is better though to be prevented 
from coming by an accident than to be late 
through forgetfulness. But what shall I do? I 
shall have nothing to eat for so long. I shall 
hardly feel able for my walk when the time 
comes to take it.” 

It was interesting for a short time, but soon it 
grew dark and cold. It was weary waiting. 

About eight o’clock that same evening Forest 
walked into the drawing room at The Elms. Per- 
fect silence reigned. Mr. and Mrs. Cheswick 
were reading. Their second daughter, Florence, 
was absorbed in fancy work. Forest looked 
around for Agnes, and, not finding her, was dis- 
appointed. He crossed the room to Florence 
and asked: “Is not your sister home? I should 
like to see her.” 

“She did not come home to dinner. We 
thought she might be at Dr. Heathcliff’s.” 

Forest seemed much amazed, and said: “I just 


30 


AGNES CHESWICK 


came from Dr. Heathcliff’s and saw nothing of 
her.” 

He crossed over to Mr. Cheswick and said: 
“You will excuse my leaving so abruptly, but I 
will go out and make some inquiries concerning 
Agnes.” 

You are very kind, but you are giving yourself 
unnecessary trouble. Agnes will come home 
while you are wandering over the country in 
search of her.” 

“Possibly, but I cannot leave it to chance. 
Good night.” 

They heard the hall door open and close after 
him. Then they returned to their occupations. 

Forest rushed to the village inquiring of every 
one he met if they had seen Miss Cheswick. The 
greater number had not seen her at all. One or 
two had met her. A woman told him she had 
seen Miss Cheswick in “Vehn’s shop.” 

“Vehn” kept the best grocer’s shop in the place, 
and Forest knew he was a friend to Agnes. He 
ran into the place, saying : “Vehn, have you seen 
Miss Cheswick this afternoon?” 

“Yes ; she was in here and said she was going 
to walk to the island ; that she had done it before.” 

“Good God,” said Forest. “Come down to the 


31 


AGNES CHESWICK 


shore and help me off with a boat. She may 
have reached the island and been kept by the 
tide.^^ 

He took Vehn with him. Two of them would 
get over the water faster than one. They made 
rapid way; the wind was in their favor, and the 
boat was a light one. Before long the outline of 
the island was visible. There is no telling on 
which side she will be,’^ said Forest, “though I 
should think on this.” Nearer and nearer they 
came, till they could distinguish something white 
on the rocks. “She is here,” said Forest ; “that is 
her white dress,” and he called loudly: Miss 
Cheswick! Miss Cheswick!” but there was no re- 
ply. 


CHAPTER V. 


Led by circumstances. 

''She may be on the other side,” said Vehn. 
"I would call again.” He did so, and this time 
more loudly than before, but he heard no answer- 
ing cry. As they stood deliberating they heard 
a sound like a sigh or a moan, which seemed to 
come from the rocks to the right. It came again. 
Gale caught up the lantern, which, in the des- 
pondency of the moment, had been placed on the 
ground, and was off over the rocks. Vehn 
scrambled after him as best he could, and heard 
the words : " She’s here, Vehn ; she’s here,” 
which gave him new hope and placed him at 
Forest’s side. Yes, she was there, lying on a 
rock completely hidden from the shore. 

"She must have sprained her ankle,’” he said, 
"and how to get her out of here without giving 
her pain is more than I can tell.” 

The pain must have brought Agnes back to full 
consciousness, for she raised herself on one elbow 
and said : " Mr. Gale, is that you ?” 


33 


AGNES CHESWICK 


“Yes ; thank heaven you are found/’ 

“Thank heaven, you are here. I had begun to 
despair of ever leaving this place alive.” 

“How did you hurt yourself?” said Forest. 

“It was so cold and I felt sick with pain and 
hunger, I was trying to keep warm by walking. 
I slipped and sprained my ankle.” 

“Bear up a few minutes,” said he, “and we will 
soon have you on your way home.” 

In a very short time they had rescued her from- 
her awkward couch, and placed her in the boat. 
She put out her hand and laid it on Forest’s arm, 
saying : “ Mr. Gale, am I dreaming ? Are you 
really here?” 

“It is all real. But never mind now, you are 
too tired to talk. I will tell you all when we get 
home.” 

She obeyed him, and did not speak again until 
after a long and painful transit. Forest laid her 
on the couch in the drawing room at The Elms. 
Their arrival created some little consternation, but 
Forest cut all inquiries short, and leaving Agnes 
in the hands of Mrs. Cheswick and her maid, he 
retired to the dining room with her father and 
gave him a full account of the evening’s proceed- 
ings. Mr. Cheswick was, irritated. He did not 


34 


AGNES CHESWICK 


feel that he was to blame, but he knew had it not 
been for the zeal and pertinacity of a stranger, 
Agnes might have paid for her whim with her 
life. Still it was always a comfort to reflect that 
after all, it was really she who was to blame for 
it all ; that it was not he who had shown less than 
a father’s concern for his daughter’s safety, but 
she who had displayed more than a girl’s 
folly and wrong-headedness. These comforting 
thoughts helped to restore Mr. Cheswick’s 
equanimity. Unwilling as Gale was to go with- 
out seeing Agnes again, the time passed and no 
message coming from her, he was forced to con- 
clude that she had been put to bed, and that it 
was no use to prolong his visit. He arose to go, 
when Mrs. Cheswick came out of the drawing- 
room, saying: 

“1 am ashamed to trouble you any more, Mr. 
Gale, but Agnes insists on seeing you again be- 
fore she goes to bed.” 

Forest was in the room almost before she had 
finished speaking, and a couple of strides took 
him to the side of the couch where Agnes re- 
clined. He bent down to her and his voice was 
hardly steady, as he asked : 

“You are feeling better?” As he spoke he put 


35 


AGNES CHESWICK 


his hand into her outstretched one and for an- 
swer, she gave it a slight pressure. Her lips were 
trembling a little, and she did not look at him. 
It flashed into his mind that Mrs. Cheswick had 
been lecturing her, and a wave of indignation 
rushed into his heart. 

“I shall come and see how you are to-morrow,’^ 
he said. ^'Good night.’’ 

Her answering ^'Good night” was hardly audi- 
ble ; and as he left the room his face was whiter 
and more set than usual. When Forest reached 
The Elms on the following afternoon, he found 
Agnes on the couch, but not in the drawing-room. 
He was taken to a little morning room, where he 
knew callers were never entertained. He was 
glad of it, and wondered ii she thought of his 
visit when she chose this room. Solitude with 
Agnes was necessary to the purpose with which 
he had come over. The events of the preceding 
evening had revolutionized his feelings. He had 
already known that he loved Agnes, and, above 
all things, desired her for his wife. He had 
hardly been able to speak as they rowed home 
from the island, his emotion had been so great. 
The very narrowness of her escape showed him 
in a moment what her loss would have been to 


36 


AGNES CHESWICK 


him. The sight of her face, as he said “Good 
night” to her, haunted him all through the night, 
and prevented his sleeping. When he slept it 
was only for a few minutes, then to wake sud- 
denly from a dream of seeing Agnes in some 
awful peril, from which he tried in vain to save 
her. All these things so worked upon him that 
he rode over to The Elms on the following after- 
noon to ask Agnes to be his wife. 

“How do you feel to-day?” he said, when he 
had taken a chair which stood temptingly near 
the couch. 

“Much better, thanks,” she replied. “My 
ankle was not sprained, only badly twisted. Dr. 
Heathcliff said.” 

“Oh, he did come, then?” 

“Why — did you know he was coming?” 

“I called last night on my way home, and sug- 
gested that he should cast a professional eye on 
you.” 

There was a shade of color in her cheeks as 
she said: “How good you are! It is to you I 
owe being out of pain now. Mamma did not 
think it necessary to send for him, and I suffered 
a good deal all night; but when he came this 


37 


AGNES CHESWICK 


morning he bound my foot up on scientific prin- 
ciples, so that it gives me little pain.” 

After this they were silent. Agnes was think- 
ing how much happier the mere presence of 
Forest in the room made her. Forest was think- 
ing how he should best approach what was in 
his mind to say. 

“Promise me, Agnes, that you will never risk 
your own safety again. I won’t try to tell you 
what I felt when I heard where you had gone last 
night. I could not put it into words. When I 
feared and almost thought I had lost you; when 
it kept coming across me that, perhaps, I had 
seen you and heard you speak for the last time; 
when I knew how dear you were to me and how 
I loved you, it seemed as if my soul had gone 
from me, and was striving to follow yours. 
Goeethe spent his life searching for a being 
rounded to his own, and could only find frag- 
ments here and there. But you have in you that 
which can satisfy my intellectual, spiritual and 
physical needs all in one.” 

To say that Agnes was surprised with the sud- 
denness of his feelings but poorly expressed what 
she felt. She did not answer; she lay still upon 
the couch, her color coming and going, and 


38 


AGNES CHESWICK 


trembled from head to foot. She put out her 
hand, and he clasped it firmly in his, as though 
to give her courage. “Oh, Agnes,” said he, “to 
the true man, love is as much the basis of ex- 
istence as to women. We have only to see the 
maimed moral lives of hundreds of men to know 
the truth of this. True love is the corner-stone 
of our happiness and the motive power of our 
lives. Speak to me, darling, I am waiting to hear 
your voice.” 

“I cannot speak,” said she. “I cannot tell you 
what I feel.” 

“Won’t you try?” said he, speaking softly and 
persuasively. 

Agnes went on : “I have been so unhappy 
here. I have been like a princess in a fairy tale 
looking for a deliverer. I thought some one 
would be sure to come ; must come ; it could not ■ 
go on forever. Last summer a man came and 
wanted to marry me, and I tried to accept him, 
but I could not. When it came to the point I did 
not love him and my courage failed me. Papa 
and mamma were both angry. Then it was worse 
because I knew that unless some one came for 
whom I cared enough, I should never get away 
and it would last all my life. All the men who 


39 


AGNES CHESWICK 


came here liked Eleanor best, though I did not 
care for them. I began to think it would always 
be so, and — ” She paused, her lips trembling, 
her breast heaving. 

Forest, who had kept his hold on her hand 
pressed it gently to reassure her, though he said 
nothing. But she was still silent. She had followed 
her first impulse and spoken out of the fulness of 
an overflowing heart; now she was ashamed 
and reticent. She would say no more. Though 
as Forest continued to urge her she turned away, 
saying: ^T don’t know; I am afraid after all we 
have been too hasty. You have not seen Eleanor. 
Suppose when you see her you like her better 
than me?” 

‘^Agnes, do you suppose I do not know my 
own mind, or that I would ask you to be my wife 
before I am certain if I love you ? If you do not 
trust me, it is a different thing, only you should 
have spoken before you told me that you accepted 
and returned my love.” 

'‘Eleanor is so beautiful,” said Agnes. 

"Did no one ever call you beautiful ?” he asked, 
pausing in front of her couch. 

"Never,” shaking her head with a smile. 


40 


AGNES CHESWICK 


“Now use your own judgment. Which do you 
suppose would have more attractions for me — 
a beauty which is there of itself, as one may say, 
for any one to admire, which does not vary much 
under any circumstances, about which all that 
could be said — has been said, and which has been 
looked upon by all eyes and criticized by all 
tongues ; or a beauty which I myself have called 
forth, which belongs to me alone, and which no 
one else perhaps would ever notice, because it 
would not exist for them. Which beauty do you 
suppose I should value most?” 

She was conquered; ever feature in her face 
showed it. She could resist no longer. Her 
whole being went out to him. 

“Will you trust me now?” he asked, after a 
pause. 

“With my whole life,” she replied, earnestly. 
He bent down and kissed her gently. 

“When may I speak to your father?” 

“Not yet, please, do not say anything about it 
till I tell you.” 

He agreed; but they decided that Dr. Heath- 
cliff should be told. So Forest told him on his 
way back to Sunnyside. 

4a 


AGNES CHESWICK 


'‘You have won a treasure, lad; see you keep 
it. Trust Agnes entirely; she is as true as steel, 
and will never fail you.” and to Agnes he said: 
“You may trust Gale; he will never love any 
woman but yourself.” 




42 


CHAPTER VI. 


ELEANOR. 

Never in all Agnes’s after-day life did she for- 
get the month following the day on which she 
had promised to be Forest’s wife. The whole 
month seemed like a long, happy dream, from 
which she scarcely wished to wake. The daily 
worries of home life no longer existed for her. 
If she never before had been really beautiful, she 
was so now. Forest saw the beauty and rejoiced 
in it; his beauty, as he used to call it. Beauty 
created by him ; born of the power of his being ; 
beauty which flashed forth at his call. 

A few evenings after their engagement, as they 
were returning home from their usual ramble, 
they heard a ripple of laughter and a girl’s voice. 
Agnes stopped short. ^‘That is Eleanor’s voice; 
is it possible she came to-day ?” 

‘Tt must be,” said Forest. ^‘Suppose we go in 
and see.” 


43 


AGNES CHESWICK 


He was anxious to see how Agnes and Eleanor 
would meet. He wondered if they would kiss 
each other. He had heard that girls always 
kissed, and that the less friendship there was the 
more effusive the kiss would be. So he followed 
her into the drawing-room with a pleasant feeling 
of expectation. It was occupied by four people — 
Mr. and Mrs. Cheswick, Mr. Baldwin, Mrs. Ches- 
wick’s brother-in-law, and Eleanor. Agnes went 
forward to greet the newcomer. She shook hands 
with Mr. Baldwin, and then approached Eleanor, 
to whom she merely nodded, carelessly saying : 

“Well, Eleanor, how are you? When did you 
get here ?” 

Forest’s breath almost failed. No kiss, not 
even a handshake. Yet no one seemed surprised. 
Eleanor merely paused in her flow of words to 
say: “I am all right, only tired. We got here 
about an hour ago.” 

Agnes introduced Forest to Mr. Baldwin and 
then to Eleanor. Eleanor scarcely bent her head, 
nor did she trouble to turn her eyes upon the 
young man. He could not repress a smile. When 
dinner was over and they were all in the drawing- 
room again. Forest took up his position near 
Eleanor, and while she was engaged in conver- 


44 


AGNES CHESWICK 


sation with her mother examined her face closely. 
He was almost aghast at her beauty. She had the 
most perfect features he had ever seen. In com- 
plexion she was dazzlingly fair. Her skin was 
snowy white ; her eyes were of a dark blue, with 
brows and lashes of brown. Now she was mag- 
nificently beautiful, but well he knew at thirty she 
would be coarse. He turned and looked at Agnes. 
Would any number of years, any amount of sor- 
row ever thicken those delicate features and rob 
them of their beauty? No, it would only refine 
them into greater spirituality. 

After this evening Forest saw very little of 
Eleanor. Her presence in the house effected a 
kind of revolution. People came to stay, and 
those in the neighborhood visited more fre- 
quently ; garden parties and other festivities took 
place. Eleanor was always in request, always 
surrounded by a crowd of admirers. This gave 
Forest and Agnes a fine opportunity of having 
many a long, private conversation. One day 
Agnes said: ‘T wish Eleanor would marry Sir 
Rupert Lunsmore. They are suited so well. He 
so dark and she so fair. Though Eleanor lives 
among people who don’t consider love a neces- 
sary adjunct to marriage, I don’t think she will 


45 


AGNES CHESWICK 


marry any one but the man she loves.’’ The Sir 
Rupert Lunsmore of whom she had spoken was 
a man staying at one of the neighboring houses. 
He was a man of forty and of commanding pres- 
ence, though not handsome. His manners were 
so quiet as to be almost severe. His hair was 
slightly tinged with gray. His admiration of 
Eleanor was very marked, and she did not ap- 
parently care for him in the least. Though as 
she did not single any one else out he was spared 
the pangs of jealousy. 

A few days after this conversation Forest came 
into the drawing-room at The Elms. He saw 
Agnes seated in the background and listening 
with a wearied expression to the outpourings of 
a young man, who, by his gestures and a few 
words he caught. Forest judged to be describing 
an exciting chase. 

^T can rescue her from that,” thought Forest, 
with a smile, and a few steps brought him to her 
side. Her face lighted up as she saw him, and 
she bit her lips to repress a smile. 

“You are wanted by Miss Cheswick,” said he 
to Mallock. 

With a hurried apology the young man was 
gone, and they were left to themselves. 


46 


AGNES CHESWICK 


‘^How could you?’’ asked Agnes, as he took 
the chair left vacant by IMallock. 

^‘All’s fair, you know ; besides, confess you are 
grateful to me.” 

'‘I am grateful ; he was such a bore.” 

“But I came here with a purpose to-night. Do 
you know Dr. Heathcliff is very ill?” 

“No,” she replied, feeling startled and uneasy. 
“What is the matter with him?” 

“A paralytic seizure, I believe. I fear it will 
be a long time before he will get up again.” 

Agnes felt a stab at her heart as she heard the 
last words. She arose from her chair, saying: 

“He will be alone. I should like to go to him.” 

“You cannot go to-night, dear.” 

“Oh, Forest,” she said, in an appealing tone. 
“Will he get well? Is he very ill?” 

“I cannot tell,” he said, gravely. “It is too 
early to say yet, but we will hope for the best.” 

“Do go. Forest, and tell him I am coming to- 
morrow. Good night.” 

As soon as breakfast was over next morning 
Agnes made her preparations and went to Dr. 
Heathclifif’s house to stay till he could do without 
her. 

Some weeks passed by and she was still there. 


47 


AGNES CHESWICK 


as it became more apparent every day he would 
never leave his bed alive. The only gleam of 
pleasure which visited her these weeks was her 
intercourse with Forest. Many a night watch 
had been made less gloomy by the fact of Forest’s 
coming in and telling her all the Derbyshire news. 
For it was a very sad task she had taken upon 
herself — to nurse through his last illness the 
friend of her whole life, whose kindness had 
been unfailing and his sympathy always ready. 
During these weeks Forest went more to The 
Elms against his will, since Agnes was not there, 
and yet not without curiosity and interest. 
Eleanor’s mood seemed to have changed ; a dozen 
times a day he was made to feel that he was the 
object of her special interest. On one particular 
afternoon she so arranged for him to take a stroll 
in the garden with her that he could not well 
refuse. 

“Do you know, Mr. Gale, what first made me 
take an interest in you ? It is this : you never pay 
me any compliments.” 

“Well,” he replied, ‘T do not pay compliments 
in the unconscious way in which I breathe and 
move. Every position has its pain and penalties. 
No doubt you are often quite disgusted with 


AGNES CHESWICK 


them. Even the most admired and adored have 
their times of disgust and weariness with the 
whole world. People who attract every one can 
never excite the depth of feeling which falls to 
the lot of those whose beauty and charm exist for 
perhaps one alone.’^ 

“There may be some truth in it, but,” said she, 
flashing her eyes into his, “it is glorious to be 
beautiful, to feel your power. I don't think I 
could exchange even the superficial homage of a 
crowd for the lifelong devotion of one man. It 
would have its advantages and it would be se- 
cure, but it would be dull.” 

Forest was surprised. She showed an idea 
of greater depth of character than he had given 
her credit for. She chose to hold temporary 
sway over the hearts of many rather than to 
reign unalterably in that of one. She had chosen 
the lower seat, although she knew there was a 
higher. She might at some future time renew 
the struggle with different results. Eleanor went 
on : 

“I know you think I have chosen badly. I 
will make a bargain with you. If you will take 
the trouble to study my character, I will give you 


49 


AGNES CHESWICK 


opportunity for doing so and show you my true 
self.” 

“Agreed,” said he. “You must not complain if 
you think me a hard judge. Now I must go; 
good-bye.” 

“Good-bye,” she cried. “We begin to-mor- 
row.” 


50 


CHAPTER VIL 


THE SUN GONE DOWN. 

As Forest studied Eleanor’s character, he be- 
came interested, for he found she had more char- 
acter than he had supposed. One characteristic 
revealed itself at once. She was selfish. She ad- 
mitted it to him, but said all women were selfish ; 
some hid it better than others. Forest hardly 
knew whether she spoke in earnest or not. Her 
manner was to him changed. Now he was her 
constant companion. Every one noticed it, though 
his close and intimate friendship with Agnes had 
given rise to no remark. One evening he called 
at the doctor’s house on his way home. He had 
been spending the evening at The Elms. He 
took up his hat and walked slowly on thinking of 
Eleanor. She had looked exceedingly beautiful 
that evening, dressed in white, with a soft color 
in her cheeks and a greater brilliancy in her 
eyes. She had been the last person to whom he 
had spoken before leaving the house. So, natur- 

51 


AGNES CHESWICK 


ally, she was present in his thoughts. He did not 
understand her yet. He felt half angry with her 
as he recalled the numerous caprices she had dis- 
played since he knew her. So, musing, he 
reached the doctor’s house and rang the muffled 
bell. The servant who answered it told him her 
master was about the same, and Miss Cheswick 
was down. 

“I will go upstairs and sit in your master’s 
room until she comes, for I want to see her.” He 
went softly upstairs and entered the sick-room. 
The doctor lay breathing heavily. Forest took a 
low chair; no doubt the one Agnes had been 
using. The light had been shaded. How quiet 
the room was! What a change from the bril- 
liantly lighted and richly furnished room he had 
just left! His heart swelled with tenderness for 
Agnes, as he thought of all this. At that mo- 
ment she came in. She paused for an instant, 
then came forward, saying, in a low voice: 
^‘Forest.” 

He turned at once and rose to greet her. 

“How good of you to come. I had given you 
up for to-night. You never came so late before.” 

“I have been up to The Elms. They are very 
gay there now. I left before any one else, on pur- 


52 


AGNES CHESWICK 


pose to come and see you. Have they never been 
to inquire how you are getting on?” 

‘‘Never; but you know I would rather they 
would not. Eleanor would look very much out 
of place up here.” 

She smiled as she spoke — a sad smile, for she 
was thinking of the man who lay there asleep, 
and her eyes rested on him. Forest followed 
them as he said : 

“The servant told me he was about the same.” 

She shook her head. 

“He always seems the same, and each day it 
gets a little nearer the end. Dr. Brant told me 
to-day that I should not be kept away from home 
much longer.” 

There was unutterable sorrow in her eyes. 
Forest pressed her hand without speaking. 

“What shall I do. Forest, when he is gone?” 

“Make the best of me, my love.” 

“Oh,” said she, “I thank God every day that 
I have you. Were it not for you I should lose 
my courage, and be unable to stay here and see 
him fading away. He thinks so much of you, 
too. Forest. We had a long conversation the 
other day, and he told me he was more reconciled 
to leaving me since I have you.” 


53 


AGNES CHESWICK 


Presently Forest rose, saying : “I should have 
liked to speak to him, but I dare not stay longer 
for your sake.” 

She did not try to detain him. 

“How I should like a walk !” she said, as they 
stood on the doorstep, and saw the garden flooded 
with moonlight and heard the sound of the sea. 

“Take one turn round the garden; he will not 
wake.” 

So they went round the garden slowly as 
though loath to part. Agnes plucked some flow- 
ers and bound them together and put them into 
Forest’s hand as they parted at the gate. 

It was about a week later when the end came. 
The doctor had been growing rapidly weaker. 
One bright November evening, the sun was 
setting and pouring its last beams into the 
room, the purple light was fading behind the 
trees, the sky had taken the dark-blue mysterious 
color that seems natural to it on an autumn even- 
ing. The birds, affrighted at the coming dark- 
ness and the cold, had sought what shelter they 
could find. The only sound that broke the si- 
lence was the soughing of the wind among the 
trees. Agnes saw that he was dying. She bent 


54 


AGNES CHESWICK 


her head upon the bed and sobbed as if her heart 
would break. He stroked her hair gently. Was 
there ever anything so sad, as the smile that 
seemed to quiver over the white face? Her sobs 
were the only sound that broke the silence. Now 
and then a long shivering sigh shook her figure. 
Hour after hour passed. Agnes knew that she 
was the only person awake in the house. The fire 
had died out and the lamp was burning low. She 
sat by the bed. The dying man held her hand, 
which she dared not withdraw. A kind of horror 
was creeping over her, for this was the first time 
she had seen death. She dared not break the si- 
lence. At last, when she could bear it no longer, 
she tried to draw her hand away. It was almost 
daybreak when his heavy breathing ceased, and 
the long, delicate fingers relaxed their hold, en- 
abling her to free her hand. At that moment the 
taper flickered out and she knew she was alone 
with the corpse, without a glimmer of light. She 
sat rigid with terror, numb with grief, until she 
heard the house door open softly and a quick 
cautious step, which she knew to be Forest^s. 
He came straight on to the dark, silent room. 

“Agnes !” he said, in low tones. 


55 


AGNES CHESWICK 


The sound of his voice seemed to break 
through the horror that kept her dumb, and she 
answered him, saying: 

‘‘Forest,” with a sob in her voice. 


CHAPTER VIIL 


MEASURING ARMS. 

'‘Tell me what has happened?” 

Then as he lighted the lamp his eyes fell upon 
the dead man’s face. 

“My darling, have you been alone ?” 

His words and presence woke her from the 
trance in which she had been. She realized that 
her friend had gone from her forever; that she 
had heard his voice for the last time. Her terror 
vanished, leaving only grief. Though Forest had 
all a man’s dread of such things, he had penetra- 
tion to see something of what she must have been 
enduring, and that to cry was the best thing now. 
Presently he touched her on the shoulder, saying : 

“Agnes, let me take you to your room.” 

She raised her eyes to him, and the look in 
them smote his heart, as she said : “Forest, I 
dare not be alone.” He said nothing, but took 
her in his arms and carried her down stairs to 
the dining-room, and laid her on the couch and 


57 


AGNES CHESWICK 


lighted the lamp. She lay with closed eyes, and 
he stooped to kiss her, saying : 

'‘I will be back in a moment; then I will not 
leave you again.” 

He summoned the servants and told them 
briefly what had happened, and blamed them for 
leaving Agnes alone at such a time. 

“Now, go into your master’s room and do what 
is necessary,” he concluded ; “I am going back to 
Miss Cheswick.” He went back to Agnes. 

“Why did you not come sooner. Forest?” said 
she. 

“My dear, I was otf on business and only got 
home about three o’clock this morning. I hoped 
to be in time — a vain hope as you see.” 

She heard him in silence. Presently she said : 
“It is over now, and you could not help it. But 
he wanted you so much before he died.” 

“Many a man would have failed to do what you 
have done, darling ; you are a brave girl. I shall 
never forgive myself for letting you go through 
this alone.” 

He held her close to him as he spoke, looking 
down into her beautiful, dimmed eyes, and feel- 
ing at that moment unworthy of the love he had 


won. 


AGNES CHESWICK 


'‘While I have you,” she said, “I do not care 
what may come — poverty, sickness, even death. 
Had I not had you, I could not have borne that 
death up stairs. Let us love with all our strength. 
Forest, for there is nothing else that is stronger 
in all this world. He brought us together and 
now he is dead.” 

“Do not let this make you superstitious, 
Agnes,” he said, gently. 

- They remained in this way for a long time 
till Forest, glancing down at Agnes’s face, saw 
she was asleep. He smiled as he looked at her. 
Her head had fallen upon the cushion, and she 
was strikingly pale. The corners of her mouth 
drooped sorrowfully ; her face looked so soft and 
pure, not haggard and older, only finer and 
calmer. Forest could not take his eyes away. 
It seemed as if the intensity of his gaze must 
have wakened her, but she slept on, never moving. 
Presently the clock struck six. It was time to 
begin the day’s work. A carriage was sent for 
Agnes soon after daybreak. She paid a visit to 
the doctor’s room before going. The dead man’s 
face was in perfect repose, and she swept the 
thick gray hair off the broad forehead and kissed 
first that and then the cold rigid lips. She was 


59 


AGNES CHESWICK 


alone. At that moment she forgot Forest, and 
felt that she had lost all that was worth losing in 
the world, tier tears flowed fast during the 
short drive home. The servant admitted her and 
she went straight to her room. Nor did she leave 
it that day. The next day she appeared at break- 
fast. All that day she longed to see Forest, but 
he did not come. In the afternoon Eleanor came 
into the room where Agnes was sitting and be- 
gan to talk about Forest. 

‘‘1 wonder if Mr. Gale will come to-day; he 
comes almost every day, and its being wet is an 
additional reason.’^ 

Agnes half smiled, as she said : 

'T should think he had enough occupation at 
home to get him over a wet day.” 

“Oh, but he likes to come, and he is sure to 
when he knows I want him.” 

Agnes said nothing. She began to think that 
the friendship between Eleanor and Forest had 
made considerable progress during her absence. 
At last she asked : 

“How will he know — ^by instinct?” 

“You are quite cutting, Agnes. Natural amia- 
bility would bring him if nothing else. But I 


6o 


AGNES CHESWICK 


believe there is some instinct mixed up in it, for 
we are great friends.” 

Agnes’s voice was perfectly cool as she asked : 
“Since when have you begun to prefer friends 
to lovers?” 

“I always liked to get both,” said Eleanor. 

At this moment Mr. Cheswick came in and 
brought the intelligence that Mr. Gale had been 
suddenly called away and would be absent sev- 
eral days. 

Agnes thought that Forest would regret not 
being at the funeral of his old friend. A distant 
cousin of the doctor’s had come over, feeling that 
he might profit by his death. 

But he was destined to be disappointed. Dr. 
Heathcliff’s will dated back some years, and de- 
creed that everything should become the abso- 
lute property of Agnes Cheswick, and, in addi- 
tion to the property, there was a letter written 
only a short time before his death. She went out 
of doors to read it. An unutterable sadness lay 
upon her soul. It seemed as if all joy had van- 
ished from the world. The letter contained much 
that perhaps her friend had not felt strong enough 
to speak. There were expressions of deep re- 


61 


AGNES CHESWICK 


gret at being compelled to leave her, little bits of 
advice and some directions as to what he thought 
she had best do with his house and furniture. 

Agnes shed no tears as she read it. Slowly 
and reluctantly she went back to her home. 

“Mr. Gale has returned,’' said Eleanor, meet- 
ing her. “Papa saw him, and he said he was 
coming up this evening.” 

“You speak as if you could not live without a 
man to talk to,” said Agnes, impatiently. 

“But you see,” said Eleanor, “I care for this 
man. I aon’t mind telling you that I like him 
better than any man I ever met, and since he 
likes me, I am going to improve my opportunity. 
He is different from all other men I ever met, and 
I believe if he understood me, we might be happy 
together. I could make him love me, but it 
would be more dignified to let him take his own 
course.” 

Agnes paled as she listened to this. Surprise, 
dismay and indignation all kept her dumb. But 
at the end, when Eleanor gave her to understand 
that the feeling was all on her side for Forest, 
shame for her sister restored her voice, and she 
exclaimed : “Eleanor !” 


62 


AGNES CHESWICK 


'‘How you look,” said Eleanor; “one would 
suppose you were in love with him yourself.” 
As she spoke a servant opened the door, saying: 
“Mr. Gale.” 


63 


CHAPTER IX. 


DEFEAT. 

Gale saw at once there was trouble. 

Eleanor was flushed with excitement. Agnes 
was very pale. Her lips were compressed. 
Forest looked from one to the other and would 
have spoken had he not been forestalled. 

“Mr. Gale, will you please go and ask papa 
now ?” Agnes raised her eyes to his face, and he 
knew perfectly well what he was to ask. 

“I will ask him with the greatest pleasure,” 
said he, and left the room. A change came over 
Eleanor. 

“What is Mr. Gale to ask papa, Agnes?” 

“His consent to our marriage,” replied Agnes, 
curtly. 

Eleanor was angry to think Agnes had been 
engaged to him for months while she had been 
losing her heart to him. She was almost dumb 
with astonishment. 

“Do you know, Agnes,” her passion bursting 
64 


AGNES CHESWICK 


the bounds she had laid upon it, “what you have 
done with your underhand work? You have 
let me fall in love with a man who was engaged 
to another woman, and you have let me make 
confession of my love to you. I will never for- 
give you, never, all my life long.” 

“Do you suppose, Eleanor, I would have vol- 
untarily insulted you by supposing you capable of 
falling in love with a man who had not shown 
the least affection for you ?” 

“Remember, Agnes,” said Eleanor, “under his 
influence I should have grown a better woman. 

I will never forgive you for this. I never liked 
you ; now I hate you.” 

She left the room as she spoke, and Agnes, feel- 
ing upset, began to wish for Forest’s return. 

Forest had gone to Mr. Cheswick and stated 
his business very clearly and distinctly. Mr. 
Cheswick listened in silence, then said: 

“I must say we all thought you preferred 
Eleanor, my second daughter.” 

Forest frowned and said : 

“I am sorry if any attentions to Miss Eleanor * 
have been misunderstood. As the sister of Agnes 
she had certain claims upon me, but it is Agnes 
whom I love and wish to make my wife.” 


65 


AGNES CHESWICK 


“Well,” said Mr. Cheswick, “I suppose I shall 
have to say yes.” 

“If you have any objections, sir,” said Forest, 
“please make them known.” 

“1 am quite satisfied,” said Mr. Cheswick, “as 
to your position and fortune, otherwise I should 
not have allowed your attentions to Eleanor.” 

This second allusion to the mythical attentions, 
and the implied slight to Agnes was not to be 
borne. 

“You will oblige me,” said he, “by telling me 
what I have done that makes you suppose I wish 
to marry Miss Eleanor.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Cheswick, “you were con- 
stantly here ; you seemed to prefer her society to 
that of any one else. You seem to have rather 
exaggerated ideas of the merits of Agnes.” 

“It may be,” said Forest, “that her beauty and 
charm exist only in my imagination.” 

“Her beauty? You are the first person I ever 
heard remark on Agnes’s beauty.” 

“Possibly; the greatest beauty often remains 
longest unrecognized. Am I to understand that 
I have your consent, Mr. Cheswick?” 

“Certainly ; but are you aware that Agnes has 
no fortune and is entirely dependent on me?” 


66 


AGNES CHESWICK 


want nothing but Agnes,” said Forest. “If 
she is to be dependent, she shall be dependent on 
some one who grudges her nothing.” 

So the interview ended. Forest arose and was 
soon back in the drawing room with Agnes. 

“Tell me,” said she, “why you stayed so long?” 

He told her part of the conversation. He 
could not bring himself to mention Eleanor’s 
name. He concluded by saying : “I want you to 
fix the time of our wedding. Agnes, I shall never 
rest till I get you away from here, all to myself.” 

“I should like it to be soon, too. Forest,” said 
she. “Do you suppose four months — or is it too 
soon ?” 

“Four,” he cried ; “I had thought of one.” 

“One month’s engagement is absurd,” said she ; 
“let it be three.” 

So three months were settled on, and Agnes 
heaved a sigh of relief, as she thought that in 
three months her life at The Elms would be 
ended. Agnes found the next few weeks rather 
trying. People were surprised. No one had ex- 
pected Agnes to be married first. There was a 
general feeling that Forest ought to have chosen 
Eleanor. Mrs. Cheswick was glad. The mar- 
riage would remove such an obstacle from the 


67 


AGNES CHESWICK 


path of Eleanor that she forgave her step- 
daughter, and told her friends it was such a 
comfort to feel she had done her duty. Eleanor 
stood completely aloof. All her passion had 
blazed out on the evening when she and Agnes 
had their explanation. She looked a little paler 
for a day or so, then regained her natural color. 
If she said nothing, however, none the less did 
she watch Forest and Agnes. She was obliged 
to confess that the sympathy between the two was 
complete. She had never seen such perfect un- 
derstanding between a man and a woman. She 
watched them as if fascinated, with a growing 
feeling of envy and bitterness of her heart, say- 
ing to herself that all this love might and ought 
to have been hers. The time flew by, until it was 
the night before the wedding. There were sev- 
eral people staying in the house, among them 
Sir Rupert Lunsmore. His attentions to Eleanor 
were very marked, but she was colder than usual. 
She scarcely danced at all. Agnes felt very 
tired as she went up stairs to her room. She sub- 
sided to a thick rug in front of the fire, and let 
her thoughts wander where they would. She had 
almost forgotten everything in recollections of 


68 


AGNES CHESWICK 


her old friend Dr. Heathcliff, when there was a 
rap at the door and Eleanor entered. 

'‘I wanted to speak to you, Agnes. I have 
been all this time making up my mind to come, 
but I thought it would be only fair to give you 
due warning. I have come to tell you I have 
not forgotten all we said that evening. You were 
right, Mr. Gale does love you. I should be a 
fool to deny it, and I want to know why you have 
a right to so much love when I am left out in the 
cold.’’ 

^‘Eleanor, do be reasonable. Forest and I were 
engaged a month before you came home. He had 
not seen you.” 

^‘Just so,” said Eleanor. am perhaps the 
one woman in society who does believe in love, 
and I do not see why I should not have my share. 
If Mr. Gale had known us both from the begin- 
ning I do not think things would have been as 
they are now.” 

‘‘You shall not say such things to me,” said 
Agnes, rising. “For your own sake, Eleanor, 
say no more. Please go away. I wish to think 
of other things to-night.” 

Eleanor smiled. “You can afford to despise such 


AGNES CHESWICK 


things now. How long, how long you will con- 
tinue to do so after your marriage, time will 
show. Sunnyside is not a thousand miles from 
here.’^ 


TO 


CHAPTER X. 


THE UNENCUMBERED FIELD. 

The wedding was over. Eleanor had stood in 
her white dress beside Agnes, filling her post of 
chief bridesmaid with grace and dignity. But 
when it was over, after the bride and bridegroom 
had gone away, the reaction came, and her break- 
down was all the more complete in proportion to 
the perfect self-control she had displayed. Tears 
of disappointment, humiliation, loneliness and 
weakness were all united as they chased one an- 
other down her cheeks, and for a long time she 
felt miserable. But this mood passed. By the time 
she was ready to go down stairs to dinner, she 
was quite herself again. Sir Rupert Lunsmore 
spent the whole of the wedding day at the 
Cheswicks. Eleanor knew quite well why he 
stayed. In total ignorance of her feelings, he 
had chosen his time badly. She was not one of 
those women whose hearts are to be caught in 
the rebound. She had no idea of revenging her- 


71 


AGNES CHESWICK 


self by marrying Sir Rupert. She had suffered 
and it would do him no harm to suffer. After 
dinner, Sir Rupert came to Eleanor as she stood 
in the window, and said: ‘‘Do you feel inclined 
for a walk. Miss Cheswick?” 

“Yes, a walk would be a good thing, but where 
shall we go?” 

“If I choose, I prefer the road down by the 
bay,” said he. 

So they left the house. Eleanor had begun 
rather to repent her temerity in giving Sir Rupert 
the opportunity he had been seeking, but the only 
thing was to be firm. She began to talk about 
such things as first came into her head. 

“Miss Cheswick,” said he, breaking the sub- 
ject at once, “do you remember last summer my 
asking you to be my wife ?” 

“Certainly, I remember that,” although her 
manner showed she was annoyed. 

“Do you mean to refuse me again ?” said he. 

“Yes ! I will not marry you,” the words were 
spoken in a hard tone. She shed no tears; she 
made no pretty feminine speeches about the pain 
it gave her to refuse his love. Sir Rupert had 
made room in his heart for hope and this was a 
hard blow. 


72 


AGNES CHESWICK 


'‘Understand,” said he, "what it is to love in 
vain, and to see no means of having your love 
satisfied. It is not likely such a thing will ever 
happen to you, but if ever it does, I should ask 
you to remember to-day.” 

"I had no idea my refusal would wound you 
so deeply.” 

"Are you sure,” he went on, passionately, 
"are you sure you could not love me? My love 
is no boy’s fancy, but a man’s love, lasting and 
changeless. It will never fail you. You will 
never meet such love as mine a second time 
in a human life. There is in life no blessing like 
true love. It soothes, it elevates, hallows, sub- 
dues, and bringeth down to earth its native 
heaven. Life has naught else that may supply 
its place; void is ambition, cold is vanity, and 
wealth an empty glitter, without love. Give me 
hope.” 

She made a desperate effort to appear calm, 
and said in a voice which was all the colder from 
suppressed emotion: "I cannot give you any 
hope. Let us go home. I am tired and it is 
getting cold.” They scarcely spoke again before 
reaching The Elms. 

Sir Rupert sailed for India. 


73 


CHAPTER XL 


THE FIRST ROUND. 

Forest and Agnes spent several months in 
traveling about the Continent. Agnes had read 
about, and seen pictures of, Switzerland and Italy 
and talked to people who had been in Germany 
and she had wondered if she would ever travel. 
Other scenes and feelings might vanish, but her 
travels would never be forgotten. 

As soon as she was settled at Sunnyside, she 
became overwhelmed with callers. 

Agnes was very little changed, her slender 
figure was as graceful as ever, her complexion 
was neither paler nor more brilliant than before. 
Mrs. Cheswick and Eleanor were among the first 
callers. Of course they spent the afternoon. 
Agnes had lost the slight constraint which 
marked her manner with them. Almost uncon- 
sciously they prolonged their stay, till a clock 
striking recalled Mrs. Cheswick to her sense 
of the flight of time. 


74 


AGNES CHESWICK 


^‘Agnes is much improved/’ said she, as they 
drove home. Eleanor made no reply, she scarcely 
spoke throughout the remainder of the drive and 
went straight to her room. 

'‘An eye for an eye,” said she, in great rage. 
"She brought shame upon me, and if I can 
dp the same for her, I will.” She loathed the 
past as a failure, while sitting among the ashes 
of remorse. Could hope ever blossom for her 
again? How miserable she felt in the midst of 
her luxurious surroundings. With a hurricane 
of passionate remorse she swept from her path 
pleasures, luxuries and wealth. They had been 
her curse. They had interposed their seeming 
importance between her and her only life, the life 
of love, by which alone she could live. Now 
she had lost all. She felt now as if she could 
be satisfied with nothing less than a human soul, 
that lived and loved as she did. The rest of the 
day passed gloomily enough. Eleanor stayed in 
her room. Her thoughts and feelings, over 
which she had no control, certainly would drive 
her mad. When the fire of jealousy, which burns 
in the heart of every one, becomes fanned into a 
flame, does it not become a consuming fire of 
evil, that flings the soul into the abyss of hell? 


75 


AGNES CHESWICK 


What if some day this fire in her heart burst 
forth into crime? This thought burned into her 
mind with terror. Her face was bloodless, her 
heart was cold and hard. She was only con- 
scious of the pain, the weariness, the insufficiency 
of any cup of life to satisfy her craving for that 
which she was powerless to reach. Her thoughts 
only maddened her and made her long for the 
morning. The moments seemed ages. 

'‘Who hesitates is lost,” she thought. "If I 
am evil, I must at least fulfil my nature.” 

A few days later Forest and Agnes were at 
dinner. She sat opposite him, looking wonderfully 
beautiful in her rich dress, with creamy roses in 
her auburn hair, and a string of pearls around 
her white throat. He looked at her with ad- 
miration, then his lips parted in a smile as he 
said : "I have done something for which I know 
you will not thank me. When I was out this af- 
ternoon riding to the lower farm, I met Eleanor, 
also riding, after a short conversation on general 
topics, she said it was very dull just now at 
The Elms, and wondered if it would be in- 
truding if she came to pay us a visit. She 
said it would be so quaint to see you in your 


76 


AGNES CHESWICK 


own home. I was so annoyed I hardly noticed • 
what she said afterwards.’' 

^‘Oh, Forest,” said she, in dismay, “you know 
we had agreed to have no one here now, as we 
wanted a little quiet after months of hotel life. 
But I suppose I must write to her and name the 
day.” 

The note was written and brought a very ami- 
able reply from Eleanor. 

Agnes prepared to receive her with all out- 
ward signs of hospitality. The following day 
she came. The size and number of her boxes 
filled Agnes with dismay, though she made no 
remarks. She made Eleanor welcome, sent her 
tea to her room and behaved, as Forest told her, 
like an arch-hypocrite. When Eleanor was alone 
in her room, she drew a deep breath. This was 
the beginning of her planned campaign. With 
one glance, she took in the grandeur of the room, 
her eyes glittered and she set her teeth as she 
murmured, “I will bide my time, this may be 
mine yet.” 


77 


CHAPTER XIL 


OPEN HOSTILITY. 

When Eleanor had been at Sunnyside a few 
days, Agnes’s peace of mind was gone, for some- 
thing happened almost every day to remind her 
that she and her sister had been rivals. Forest 
had gone out one morning after breakfast; she 
and Eleanor were alone. “Do you enjoy your 
domestic affairs, Agnes?” 

“No, sometimes it almost spoils the pleasure of 
having one’s own house. Forest understands 
and deeply sympathizes with me.” 

“May I give you my opinion of that matter, 
Agnes ?” 

“Certainly, I have no doubt it will be of im- 
mense value to me,” said Agnes, gravely. 

“You can’t expect men to take an interest in 
such things, and if you want to keep Forest’s 
affection, keep your temper. We were discussing 
you last night. He said he knew you were not 
perfect, but that people who were always right 
could afford to be generous to their less fortunate 


78 


AGNES CHESWICK 


friends. He said he hoped in time you would 
conquer your temper, and that he relied on age 
and responsibility to help you. I thought it so 
nice of him to speak of your faults in that way.” 

Agnes smiled as she crossed the room and 
made an excuse to see one of the servants. 
Eleanor’s remarks filled her with amazement and 
dismay. She could see that Eleanor had tried to 
lower her in her husband’s eyes. She hoped 
Forest had not read her sister’s purpose in her 
words. She felt singularly helpless. She wished 
Eleanor would go home. She saw Forest was 
growing tired of her. The longer Eleanor stayed 
the more did Agnes feel the want of sympathy 
between them. They had not a taste in com- 
mon. Things were growing worse. Eleanor 
seemed to be slipping into a position towards 
Forest which was not warranted by their relation- 
ship. Yet she and Forest never mentioned the 
matter. 

Agnes kept silent by an instinctive feeling of 
loyalty to Eleanor’s womanhood, and Forest was 
silent, she knew not why. Sometimes she grew 
bitter and doubting. She was not well and things 
assumed exaggerated proportions. It was borne 
forcibly upon her mind that Eleanor must go 


79 


AGNES CHESWICK 


for her sake. She arranged a plan and deter- 
mined to speak to Eleanor what was in her mind. 
One evening they were alone. Agnes said : 

^‘Eleanor, you must be getting tired of us. 
Do not stay longer than you feel inclined, and 
I think for your own sake you had better go.” 

‘^It is very kind of you to concern yourself 
so much about me ; to what am I indebted ?” 

‘‘Since you are in my house,” said Agnes, “I 
feel it my duty, as an elder sister to take care of 
you. You are putting yourself in a false position 
with Forest ; by this time you must be convinced 
of his love for me, and you are only making 
yourself ridiculous.” 

The blood rushed in a torrent to Eleanor’s 
face, as she asked : 

“In whose eyes?” 

“So far in mine only; Forest has no idea of 
what is going on.” 

“Well, to be ridiculous in your eyes has no 
great terror for me,” said Eleanor. 

“No,” said Agnes, “but before it goes any 
farther you will be good enough to leave us.” 

“Unfortunately,” said Eleanor, “the feeling is 
not mutual. I am not tired of you, and I do not 
intend to go until I am.” 


80 


AGNES CHESWICK 


''Do not go too far,” said Agnes, "granted that 
you succeed, what would you have gained ?” 

"I should have gained my turn, and made 
you feel as you made me, two years ago.” 

"You are wicked,” said Agnes, "nothing is 
sacred in your eyes, do not suppose for one mo- 
ment that I will tolerate a plan to overthrow my 
own happiness. Since you have declared your 
intentions openly, you shall leave my house for 
your own sake.” 

Agnes turned and left the room. "What 
shall I do,” she thought, "to get her away?” Sud- 
denly she paused, saying: "This is a plan, I 
will carry it out at once.” 


8i 


CHAPTER XIII. 


AN ACCIDENT. 

Agnes at once made arrangements to carry out 
her scheme. Forest had gone off on business, to 
be absent for a few days. So she went to her 
room and penned him a short note, telling him 
she hoped he could spare her for a day or so, as 
she had to go to London on business connected 
with Dr. Heathcliff’s estate. That she went at 
this time to get rid of Eleanor, as she could en- 
dure her no longer. She placed it in his desk, 
then went upstairs to Eleanor’s room. “I came 
to tell you,” said she, ‘T shall go up to London 
to-day on business; any carriage you wish to 
take you home is at your disposal.” 

Eleanor was stunned for a moment, but she 
quickly replied : “For the present you have 
gained your end, but for the present only.” 

Agnes went away, leaving her very angry, and 
going to her own room, rang the bell for her 
maid to pack her box. The afternoon came and 


AGNES CHESWICK 


she was off. As she leaned back in the railway- 
carriage, she began to think of the immediate 
future, and ask why she should go to London. 
She did not want to go, and it would make no 
difference to Forest. The country looked so 
beautiful she decided to get off at Gimfield, a lit- 
tle village on the main line. So at the next sta- 
tion she got her ticket for Gimfield. The train 
was late, and they were going at unusual speed. 
“It surely cannot be safe to go at such speed,” 
she thought. The carriage lurched violently ; she 
was thrown from her seat ; she heard a woman 
scream ; she had a sensation of a heavy blow ; all 
grew dark; she knew no more. 

On arriving at Sunnyside, Forest found the 
little note Agnes had left for him, and read it 
with a half smile, until he came to the passage 
in which she stated she was going to London. 
His face grew very white, as he had noticed in 
a morning paper a paragraph headed : “Frightful 
Accident to a London Train.” “Bring the cart,” 
said he, speaking sternly from excess of re- 
strained excitement and emotion. In a few min- 
utes he was driving at full speed to the station. 
People looked at him curiously, for by this time 
it was known that Mrs. Gale had gone to Lon- 


83 


AGNES CHESWICK 


don by that train. Forest thought his journey 
would never end. At last he found himself 
standing on the bank of the river at the place of 
the accident. It was an awful scene. The 
ragged, broken bridge, the river pitilessly mute. 
There was little to hear ; all had perished. Forest 
stood motionless as he tried to realize what had 
happened. He did not know how long he stood 
there. The first thing of which he was fully con- 
scious was that they were speeding back to Der- 
byshire. He sat with his eyes fixed on the floor, 
with a cold, gray face, saying to himself : ‘^Agnes 
is dead ! Agnes is dead !” He arrived at home 
and sat down in his usual chair; hours he sat 
there. The ticking of the clock was the only 
sound that broke the stillness. He could not 
keep his imagination from visiting the scene of 
the wreck. The spectacle of it preyed upon him. 
He was ever moving midst the rush of the 
wounded and dying, whose cries, groans and an- 
guish sounded in his ears. He was ever hover- 
ing over one loved being to interpose between 
her and danger. He saw before him a long life of 
loneliness. If she had only been spared to him. 
If he could only once more hold her hand; see 
her smile; feel the light of her eyes upon him, 


84 


AGNES CHESWICK 


the world might take all else that he possessed. 
At last he rose and went into Agnesis room. 
Some fancy work of hers lay on a little table, 
together with a book she had been reading. As 
his eyes fell upon these the reality came home to 
him. He turned away with a feeling of deadly 
sickness growing at his heart, and went back to 
the library. So passed the first evening. After 
that people came and murmured conventional 
phrases of consolation, but Forest heard them in 
silence. A few days later came Mrs. Cheswick 
and Eleanor dressed in deep mourning, and the 
coachman and footman wore badges and trap- 
pings of woe. Both ladies could not realize that 
that was the same man who had sat talking to 
them the week before. The set, stern face, the 
streaks of gray in the brown hair ; the wild, hag- 
gard look appalled them. He looked annoyed as 
his eyes fell upon the two women. 

Mrs. Cheswick tried to be eloquent, but he lis- 
tened with such an abstracted look upon his face 
she felt half inclined to be offended, and rose to 
take her departure so decidedly that Eleanor was 
obliged to follow. Eleanor was very silent as 
she and her mother drove home. As they neared 
The Elms she said: “Mamma, if you wish me 


8^ 


AGNES CHESWICK 


to be married soon, have Forest at the house 
often.” “Eleanor,” said she, “It seems like sac- 
rilege to talk that way. If you have any such 
wishes, keep them to yourself.” 

A man is not allowed to nurse his grief like a 
woman. The world goes on as if nothing had 
happened, and he must keep his place in it. In a 
week Forest was going about his business in his 
usual way. Sunnyside had resumed its usual as- 
pect. All outward signs of care and thought 
were there, but the spirit which had animated and 
pervaded the whole was gone. Forest kept much 
to himself. The only house at which he was 
often seen was The Elms, though hardly from 
choice ; rather because he was so constantly asked 
to go, and believing it was done in single friend- 
liness, he considered it his duty to go. As we 
know, he was asked for a purpose. Eleanor was 
changed, as he grew accustomed to his new life 
and began to notice other people, he was con- 
scious of a feeling that she was better to get on 
with than before. He compared every woman 
he met to Agnes. “So far,” thought Eleanor, 
“he has no suspicion of the truth, but I cannot 
go on like this forever ; the time will come when 
I can hide it no longer, and then he must marry 
me. 


86 


CHAPTER XIV. 


DARK AND DREARY UTTERANCES. 

Eleanor’s love for Forest was wearing her 
away. She was nervous and unsettled. Her 
temper was painfully uncertain. She knew that 
people had begun to whisper about her changed 
appearance. She was drifting in a rudderless 
boat, along a deep and dangerous stream, with 
a dim feeling that the end must soon come. For- 
est saw nothing. He remained absorbed in 
Agnes’s memory. It was spring again, and 
everything seemed to have wakened to new life. 
Even Forest was not proof against this univer- 
sal feeling of joy. One evening he and Eleanor 
were in the garden. Eleanor seemed weary and 
unhappy. He said : ^‘Are you not going to tell 
me why you are unhappy, Eleanor?” 

^^No,” said she; “if you cannot find out for 
yourself, I will not tell you.” 

He said no more ; it was evident she was in a 
bad temper, for the present even his influence 


87 


AGNES CHESV/ICK 


over her was gone. There was a little curl at the 
corner of his lips as he went on. “My theory is 
that your state of health is the result of the life 
you have been leading. You have grown tired 
of beauty, wealth, position and popularity. Why 
do you not marry some good man, and the care 
and responsibility of your own household will 
help you. A clergyman, for instance?” 

Rage, disappointment and bitterness filled her 
heart. She could have wept with mortification. 
“If I were disposed to follow your advice,” said 
she, “I would find many difficulties in the way. 
You forget, I could not marry a man unless I 
loved him.” She spoke almost haughtily. The 
situation was fast becoming ridiculous, when 
Florence appeared upon the scene, attended by 
her intended husband, Frank Price. 

“Have you quarreled?” she asked, with a 
spark of merriment in her eyes. “We are not on 
quarreling terms,” said Forest, as Eleanor re- 
mained silent. “Oh, you must be giving her 
good advice, then,” said Florence. “In this case 
we may hope for success, if any one in the world 
can persuade her to do what she dislikes, it is 
you.” As she spoke she did not see the cloud 
gathering on her sister’s face, who now arose and 


88 


AGNES CHESWICK 


walked towards the house. Forest felt relieved ; 
he was glad to get away. He thought of her 
strange behavior all the way home. Of only one 
thing did he feel sure. She was in love with 
some one ; with whom he could not tell. 

Eleanor meanwhile sat in her room, plunged in 
despair. All she did seemed of no avail. 


8p 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE MYSTERY BROUGHT TO LIGHT. 

Eleanor continued to fade. She spent most of 
her time sitting idle and silent, never opening her 
lips except to utter some bitter speech, and when 
addressed by anyone she maintained a haughty 
silence. One evening Forest, as usual, went to 
The Elms. Eleanor pressed him for a walk into 
the garden. As they strolled along, her eyes did 
not meet his, but wandered over the country. She 
was evidently going to take some step which ap- 
peared to be desperate, and she was nervous. 

Forest, feeling sorry for her, said : “Eleanor, 
can I help you in any way ? If I can, I am at your 
service.” 

She threw out her hands with a gesture of pas- 
sionate fierceness. Pressing her foot upon the 
ground, she cried, in a voice unlike her own: 
“Do you mean it? You blind man, do you not 
see I am dying of love of you?” 

Never had her beauty been so striking, so mag- 
nificent, as at that moment. She stood for a mo- 


90 


AGNES CHESWICK 


merit, then covering her face with her hands, she 
whispered: “Oh, why did I speak? I shall die 
with shame/' 

She would have fallen, but Forest’s arms up- 
held her, and his voice said in her ear: “You 
need not feel ashamed, if you will let me protect 
you. Let me be your husband.” 

The strain had been so great she had fainted. 
Forest looked at her with a feeling of utter help- 
lessness. His heart was touched by the sight of 
the beautiful, pale face, which bore such evident 
signs of suffering. Even as he looked at her, she 
opened her eyes and made an effort to raise her- 
self. A faint color came into her cheeks, as she 
said, in a voice of pain: “Ah, you despise me, 
and you have a right to, but I cannot tell you 
what I have suffered.” 

“Do not try to,” said Forest; “forget the past.” 

“That will not be easy. For, after all, you do 
not love me,” said Eleanor. 

“I cannot love you,” was his answer. “All the 
love I was capable of feeling has been given to 
another woman, but if you will have my name 
and consideration, I will try to make you happy.” 

He spoke gravely and without enthusiasm, but 
with a good deal of determination. “Now, will 


91 


AGNES CHESWICK 


you try to walk home?” said he. “Thank you,” 
rising, as she spoke and letting him put her hand 
upon his arm. Neither spoke until they reached 
the house. Then Eleanor left him, saying: “I 
expect you will find papa in the library. I shall 
be in my room if you want me.” 

Mr. Cheswick tried to remind Forest that he 
had at one time suggested Eleanor as the more 
suitable wife for him. Forest heard him in si- 
lence, and as soon as possible made his escape. 
On his way back to Sunnyside his thoughts re- 
verted to his interview with Eleanor, and he 
caught himself instituting a comparison between 
her conduct and what he imagined Agnes would 
have done, had fate ordained that she should love 
him without her love being returned. No wo- 
man would bear comparison with Agnes. Elea- 
nor least of all, but what could he do. She had 
thrown herself upon his mercy. He was in 
honor bound to respect her appeal. So he ar- 
gued as he swung along the road, and his face 
was brighter when he reached home. The wed- 
ding took place at the end of the summer, as soon 
as Eleanor had regained her former appearance. 
They went abroad for their honeymoon, and were 
not to come home for a few months. 


92 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE RETURN TO LIFE. 

In the drawing room of the rectory of Gimfield 
two ladies were seated. It was a beautiful day in 
Autumn, and perfect stillness reigned over every- 
thing. One was of middle age, her dress was 
rich and quiet. She sat in a low chair busy at 
some parish work. Mrs. Maybie’s companion 
was young enough to be her daughter. She was 
leaning back in the large armchair, covered with 
a soft blanket, and a little shawl of white wool 
partly concealed the thick waves of chestnut hair, 
which were almost as short as a boy^s. 

^‘You promised me,” said she, “to tell me all 
about my illness ; how I came to be here.” 

“Are you sure you are strong enough to talk?” 
said Mrs. Maybie. 

“If you had known me in the days of my 
strength, you need not have asked me such a 
question.” 

“I am so fearful of you having a relapse, but 
since I promised you, I will tell you. Only you 


93 


AGNES CHESWICK 


must promise me to lie on the couch. That is 
right.” 

‘'Now listen, dear. It was one day last winter 
when Gertrude came running in and said that 
there had been an accident just outside the station 
and that some people were hurt. I put on my 
things and went straight to the station, for you 
know Herman and I have always considered it our 
duty to give help when we can. I went into the 
waiting room. They had put you on the long seat 
at the side. I went up and looked at you. You 
looked so young and small my heart went out to 
you, and I determined to take you in. You were 
utterly helpless and dependent on someone. So 
I told the doctor you should be brought here as 
soon as possible. You were very ill, indeed, with 
brain fever, but in your worst delirium you never 
said anything which gave us a clew. By degrees 
the fever left you — you were as weak as a baby.” 

She paused, her companion turned to her and 
spoke with some constraint. “This is a painful 
story of my being a burden upon you, which you 
have borne with so much goodness and patience, 
but is this all?” 

“No, my dear, it is not all. You gained bodily 
strength every day, but your memory did not 


94 


AGNES CHESWICK 


come back. You entered completely into the 
events of each day, but you could not remember 
the past, but now you are better, and as your 
body grows stronger, your memory will grow 
too. But, my dear child, what is the matter?” 

She might well ask. The girl’s face was gray 
in its ashy paleness. ‘Tt is nothing,” she said ; 
‘^only I feel tired, and I believe I will go to my 
room and rest.” 

Agnes left the drawing room and went up- 
stairs. She found herself in her bedroom with- 
out knowing how she got there. She sat down 
and tried to think, and as she thought her heart 
sank within her. She was aghast at the awful 
gap that had been made in her life. Months, 
long, weary months had passed since Forest had 
heard anything of her. He must think her dead. 
She clasped her hands in despair, as all the pos- 
sible consequences of what had happened dis- 
closed themselves to her. Her heart yearned to- 
wards her husband. Her yearnings, her long- 
ings for him were unspoken prayers. How 
should she live through the suspense of this un- 
certainty. ‘‘Oh, for some way out of this awful 
darkness !” she cried. “God, my Father, help me 
now.” 


95 


AGNES CHESWICK 


That she was dead to him burst upon her with 
the force and anguish of realization. A vague 
terror stole into her heart. She must communi- 
cate with her husband. What would his feelings 
be. After all the excitment of the afternoon she 
must wait till to-morrow. She lay down on her 
pillow, mute at last with perplexity. Her mind 
became a blank. She could not think. She 
could only feel a dull sense of void everywhere. 
She could not lie still and think any longer. She 
rose, went to the window and drew the curtain to 
look out on the scene that sunset was gilding. 
The landscape was indescribably beautiful. Au- 
tumn tints of every hue, from sickly green to 
golden brown, had touched every tree with their 
own peculiar note of death. The riot of decay 
flung a defiant laugh back to life, in its march on 
death, that seemed to declare mockingly that life 
has never been able to do for beauty what death 
was accomplishing. Agnes turned away more 
dispirited than ever. She seemed so forsaken. 
At last, worn out in body and mind, she went to 
sleep thinking of Forest. 


96 


CHAPTER XVII. 


RECEIVING INSTRUCTIONS. 

The following morning Agnes was left alone. 
She seated herself on the couch and looked out 
of the window. She sat dreaming her time away 
with a smile crossing her face now and then, as 
she thought of what Forest would do when he 
found she was alive. She pictured their meeting. 
The bare imagining of it made her restless ; her 
heart beat faster, the color rose to her cheeks, 
while her lips trembled between smiles and tears. 
She arose and resolved to occupy herself in some 
way among the newspapers. She picked up one 
and began to read it diligently. She was reading 
an account of a fashionable marriage in the coun- 
try. When she had read a few lines she became 
aware that she was reading an account of the 
wedding of Forest and Eleanor. Her heart 
seemed to stop beating, everything swam before 
her, and she sat trembling from head to foot. 
She could not take it all in at once, but by de- 


97 


AGNES CHESWICK 


grees she began to realize what it meant. Ten 
months — was that long enough for a man to for- 
get the memory of his wife, and to woo, win and 
marry another woman? Was it long enough for 
Forest to forget her? The stinging thought put 
life into her. She sprang from the couch, say- 
ing, aloud: “No, no; it cannot be; it is a lie.'' 
Oh, the agony of that moment, to be forgotten so 
soon. To her friends she was dead, and worse 
than that, forgotten ! Forest had forgotten her. 
Her fears had been correct and justified. He, 
too, had fallen in love with Eleanor ; he whom she 
had placed apart from other men, from the vul- 
gar crowd who fall in love with a woman because 
she is in the fashion and popular. There was 
torture and agony in the thought. She paced 
up and down the room, her lips moving with the 
formation of words which she never uttered, 
words ol lamentation, of injured pride, of bitter 
reproach. Oh, could she feel that they were 
parted, but not forever ; he was living and loving 
still. Could she feel that the chain of love which 
united them, death had not power to part. One 
link, as he thought, under the waters, the other 
around his heart, but her soul now is so lonely, 
and throbs with a sense of pain, for the love 


98 


AGNES CHESWICK 


which was once hers only, will never be hers 
again. Her newly recovered strength gave way 
and she fell on the couch unconscious, and in 
this state she was found by Mrs. Maybie upon 
her return. At last she opened her eyes. They 
wandered around the room and rested on the 
newspaper that had struck her down. She cov- 
ered her face with her hands and broke into pas- 
sionate weeping. Mrs. Maybie did not attempt 
to check her; she only used various little wo- 
manly ways of expressing sympathy with an un- 
known grief, while her own eyes were dim with 
unshed tears. In time Agnes ceased to cry, but 
lay still with such sadness in her face as made 
Mrs. Maybie’s heart ache. She quietly slipped 
out and left her alone in her sorrow. 

Agnes came down to tea and Mr. Maybie 
greeted her with his usual politeness. She 
looked very beautiful that evening, all traces of 
her tears were gone, and her eyes looked more 
lustrous than usual. She was perfectly com- 
posed. 

Mr. Maybie, knowing she was suffering, tried 
to engage her in conversation. She met him half 
way, but it was a great effort. They soon arose 
from the table and went into the drawing room. 
■; LofC. 


99 


AGNES CHESWICK 


Agnes knew this was her hour. So she said, in a 
low voice: want, if you do not mind, to tell 

you all about myself. First, though, I want to 
thank you for all you have done for me, and to 
say I will never forget it would be mere empty 
words! How could I ever forget it? The re- 
membrance of it will make me a better woman. 
I had better begin by telling you my name is 
Agnes Gale and I am married. My maiden 
name was Cheswick.” Briefly and comprehen- 
sively she told the story of her girlhood ; her en- 
gagement to Forest. She told of the great beauty 
of her stepsister; she related the scenes between 
herself and Eleanor; her own marriage, and 
Eleanor’s visit to Sunnyside, of her planned trip 
to London; how she had changed her mind and 
came to Gimfield. All was told in a few words, 
and ended by saying : “From that day you know 
far more than I do, but this morning I saw this. 
Will you read it aloud?” 

Handing the paper to Mr. Maybie he read the 
account of the wedding, the description of the 
dresses, the wonderful beauty of the bride. At 
the end came a mention of herself and her death 
under tragic circumstances ten months before. 


100 


AGNES CHESWICK 


For a moment there was silence. They were 
completely overwhelmed by it all. 

“How do you explain the marriage?’^ he said, 
turning to Agnes. 

“It is a mystery to me. Forest did not love 
Eleanor. He will never love any woman but 
me. 

She spoke in a tone of perfect assurance. It 
was evident her faith in her husband was un- 
shaken. 

“I made up my mind last night,” said she, “to 
tell you all about myself. I intended to write to 
Forest, and I was going to ask you to write, but 
I do not see that we can write now.” 

“Why not? You are Mr. Gale’s wife.” 

“Yes, but there is Eleanor; what would become 
of her? I know Forest does not love her, and 
I do not want to condemn him to an unhappy 
life, but Eleanor loves him, and she cannot bear 
to be thwarted.” 

“Can you wait patiently for a while, Mrs. 
Gale? I shall make it my business to see how 
they feel towards each other, and we will take 
time to reflect. Will you be kind enough to re- 
main here with my wife until this is settled?” 

Agnes turned to Mrs. Maybie with a look 

lOI 


AGNES CHESWICK 


which brought tears into her eyes, and impelled 
her to stoop and press a kiss on the girl’s fore- 
head, while she said: '‘Yes, my love; you will 
stay with us.” They did not say much after this, 
and presently Agnes went upstairs. 


102 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


DARK CLOUDS. 

By the time Forest had been married a month 
he had no words strong enough to express his 
sense of the folly of which he had been guilty in 
letting himself be overcome by Eleanor’s display 
of emotion. Why had he not talked to her with 
calm common sense, and shown her that things 
were not nearly so desperate as she imagined? 
Why had he not told her that he did not and 
never could love her, that their marriage would 
make them both miserable ? Why, he asked him- 
self, could he not have done that? Why was he 
so constituted that he had feelings about women 
which made it impossible for him to see one in 
trouble without laying his life and purse at her 
feet? A month spent in daily, constant, unceas- 
ing intercourse with her had shown him they had 
not one interest in common. Day by day the 
gulf grew wider and deeper. Horrible thought 
to be physically bound to a person from whom 


103 


AGNES CHESWICK 


mentally you were separated as far as the heaven 
from the earth, to have the consciousness that 
spiritually you are not united at all. Eleanor 
had won the game on which she staked so heav- 
ily, and success had made her radiant. Forest 
had not believed her capable of such long con- 
tinued amiability. She seemed to have lost her 
taste for society and was happiest alone with her 
husband. But suddenly there came a change of 
which Forest sought in vain for the cause. For 
a few days she had been quiet and thoughtful, 
unusually so, but suddenly and without a word 
of explanation she returned to the gay life which 
before her marriage she loved so well. She soon 
became the queen in society. Nothing was too 
gay for her; she plunged into a perfect sea of 
dissipation. Forest stood aloof, taking no more 
part in his wife’s life than he was obliged; but 
none the less heartily tired of it. As the winter 
drew near he began to wish to go home. It was, 
therefore, a blow to Eleanor when one evening 
Forest said to her : “Eleanor, I am thinking of 
writing to Sunnyside to tell them to prepare for 
our homecoming.” 

“What on earth do you mean?” asked Elea- 
nor, in amazement. 


104 


AGNES CHESWICK 


he replied frankly, “I am tired of this 
racketing about, continually tearing ourselves 
up by the roots and rushing off to a new place 
before we get used to the old, always meeting the 
same old set over and over again. 

They were both silent after this. Eleanor was 
offended. Forest broke the silence by saying: 
'Tt is necessary for me to go home, and you can- 
not remain here alone. You may fill Sunnyside 
with visitors from cellar to attic. You may be 
as gay as you are here.” 

“There are ways and ways of being gay,” she 
said, “and that is not my way. Besides, it will be 
impossible for me to go. I have made all kinds 
of engagements for next week, which I cannot 
break.” 

He crossed the room to her side, and putting 
his lips to her cheek, said: “Eleanor, don’t be 
foolish; your objections appear very trivial.” 

“Not more trivial than your important busi- 
ness,” said she. 

“Only married a few months and not consid- 
ering the happiness of your wife.” 

Forest walked off with a white face, as he said : 
“We leave here for England next week; arrange 
accordingly.” 


105 


AGNES CHESWICK 


He went out into the garden. His thoughts 
turned to Agnes, but by an enormous effort he 
drove them away. He had vowed on the day he 
married Eleanor that he would never draw a 
comparison between Eleanor and Agnes, and he 
was determined not to break this vow. A week 
later Mr. and Mrs. Gale arrived at Sunnyside. 


io6 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A VISIT TO THE RECTORY. 

Sorrow and trouble instead of robbing Agnes 
of her beauty seemed to add to it by spiritualiz- 
ing her face. One evening as Mr. Maybie came 
into tea, he handed Agnes a note and said: 
‘'Read this, Agnes, and tell me if it will do.” It 
ran thus : 

“Dear Mr. Gale. 

“If you will appoint a day upon which I might 
call upon you, I will communicate something of 
importance and interest to you. Believe me, 
“Yours truly, 

“Frank Maybie.” 

Agnes handed it back signifying her approval. 
When Forest had first suggested that Eleanor 
fill the house with company, he had thought that 
he, too, would find amusement, but it was all a 
failure. 

One evening, just before dinner, as Eleanor 


AGNES CHESWICK 


was sitting by her bedroom fire alone, Forest en- 
tered. After greeting her, he said : “What were 
you thinking about when I came in?” 

“I was thinking of all the people I have here ; 
how tired I am, and still I have invited more.” 

“I am afraid, then, I have made a mistake,” 
said Forest. “Do you remember Sir Rupert 
Lunsmore ?” 

She looked astonished and said : “How could 
I forget him. What of him ?” 

“Well, I met him yesterday and invited him 
down for a few days; he is coming to-morrow. 
Do you mind ?” 

“Not at all,” she replied, in a quiet, indifferent 
tone. The light was low and she made a beau- 
tiful picture sitting in the shadow. Forest was 
fully alive to her beauty. Presently she said: 
“Do you know why Sir Rupert went away ? He 
asked me twice to marry him and I refused. I 
thought you might not care to have him here if 
you knew that.” 

“I did not know that, but I thank you for your 
candor. By your refusing I know you did not 
love. him. You are now my wife, and I trust you 
implicitly.” 

“I know you have every confidence in me,” she 
io8 


AGNES CHESWICK 


said, in a cold voice, '"but though it is a long time 
ago, he will not have forgotten. He is not like 
other men. I don’t think he could ever become 
indifferent to a woman whom he once loved.” 

“Then,” said Forest, “his accepting m_y invi- 
tation is proof of his love for you, by your rea- 
soning, I thank you for telling me this. I es- 
teem your confidence as a compliment.” She 
arose from her chair. 

“No need for further discussion. You say you 
have perfect confidence in me. Good night.” 

“Good night,” he answered, taking her hand 
for a moment, then going into his dressing room. 

“Gone,” said she. “Well, it is not my fault. I 
have done my best.” 

The next day as Eleanor, Forest and Sir 
Rupert were at dinner. Forest said: “Eleanor, 
do you remember hearing of the clergyman of 
Gimfield?” 

“Yes,” said she; “what of him?” “Well, he 
has written to come here to see me on important 
business, but I think I will spare him the trip 
and go there.” “Very well,” said she. “I hope 
you will not be disappointed in what you hear.” 

“You are laughing at me, Eleanor, but in- 


109 


AGNES CHESWICK 


deed I do feel excited. I leave Mrs. Gale in your 
care, Sir Rupert.’' He touched her cheek with 
his lips and was gone. In due time he reached 
the rectory of Gimfield. 


no 


CHAPTER XX. 


UNITED. 

“I came to say that a gentleman is waiting to 
see you/’ said a servant to Mr. Maybie. “Here 
is his card.” He took it, and glancing at the 
name, handed it to Agnes. The card bore the 
name “Forest Gale.” 

Her color came and went as she said: “He 
should not have come.” 

“I will go to him,” said the rector. “Tell him 
what we agreed. After that I shall send him to 
you ; so do not go away.” 

She remained seated on the couch trembling 
slightly, and with hands clenched in her lap. 
New life, new power pulsed through her veins, 
for she knew he was near. Her memory was 
busy recalling past scenes and recollections, both 
tender and cruel. She was shaken to her very 
heart’s center. 

Mr. Maybie found Forest leaning against the 
mantel and looking into the fire with a grave, 
thoughtful face. 


Ill 


AGNES CHESWICK 


'‘I hope I am not intruding,” said he, '‘but I 
felt impatient and could not wait. You see, a 
very lame excuse.” 

"I am very glad to see you,” replied the 
clergyman cordially. “I have indeed a very 
curious story to tell you about a young lady who 
is staying with us.” 

Forest looked surprised and perplexed. "Can 
I help you or her in any way? If I can I shall 
be most happy.” So he seated himself to hear 
Mr. Maybie’s story. "Do you remember,” said 
Mr. Maybie, "a railroad accident which took 
place a year ago?” 

"I have every reason to remember it,” said For- 
est. "My wife met her death on that train,” 
speaking in a voice of restrained emotion. 

"It happened more than a year ago, but there 
are times when I cannot realize it. Had you ever 
seen her or known what she was to me you 
would understand her loss is a wound which 
never will be healed. Be so good, though, as to 
go on. I have interrupted you.” 

Then Mr. Maybie went on with his story. 
"On the day of the accident no one was much 
hurt except a young lady, whom my wife had 
brought to this house. She was dangerously ill 


II2 


AGNES CHESWTCK 


for months. After a time she recovered, but her 
memory did not return. She lived from day to 
day, alive to everything that happened at the time, 
but as it passed it became a blank. In time, 
though, she recovered her memory, and asked 
my wife to tell her all about herself. She was 
very much upset.. Then she told us her own 
story; how she had changed her mind and did 
not go to the place for which she had first 
started.” 

Forest rose from his chair very white, as he 
asked : “Why did you not communicate with her 
friends?” “Because in the meantime she had 
seen an account of her husband’s marriage in the 
newspaper.” 

“Her name,” said Forest. “What were the 
initials on her luggage?” 

“The initials wer A. G., and she told us her 
name was Agnes Gale.” 

Forest staggered. His breath came short. 
“Oh, Agnes, Agnes,” he crie<i. “What have I 
done!” He sank into a chair and dropped his 
head in his arms. Mr. Maybie slipped out to 
send Agnes in. She entered and stood for a 
moment unseen and unheard by Forest. Then 
she said, in a low voice: “Forest!” 


AGNES CHESWICK 


The sound of her trembling voice aroused him, 
he stretched out his hands to her and said: 
“Agnes, is it you? Oh, is it not a dream? I 
have so often fancied I had you back again, 
kissing your sweet face, but it was always a 
dream. Tell me, Agnes, is it true?’' 

“Take my hand. Forest,” said she. “This time 
I shall not melt away into a dream.” 

Their hands met, and then she was in his 
arms. Her face, her hands, her hair was covered 
with his kisses. She closed her eyes, leaned her 
head on his shoulders and wondered how she had 
lived through the past year. In time they were 
calmer, and Forest said: “Agnes, can you ever 
forgive me? My poor darling, what you must 
have suffered. Did you ever doubt me, Agnes? 
It makes my heart ache to think of it. Oh, why 
did you leave home at all ?” 

“Because Eleanor loved you, and how could I 
betray her? I thought if I left she would go 
home. Little did I think things would come to 
such a pass as this. Oh, Forest, do not blame 
me. I have suffered more than I can tell.” 

“Blame you? Heaven knows I blame myself. 
It is all her fault. She fooled me and made me 


AGNES CHESWICK 


think she loved me. I can never forgive her. 
To-morrow she shall know everything.’^ 

^‘Do not reproach her, Forest,” said Agnes. 
^Think what her position must be.” At that mo- 
ment they were informed tea was ready. When 
they entered the dining room she turned to her 
hostess, saying : *‘Here is my husband.” 


IIS 


CHAPTER XXL 


LIGHT AFTER DARKNESS. 

At Sunnyside Eleanor and Sir Rupert were 
amusing themselves in a way of which Forest lit- 
tle dreamed. After his departure for the rectory 
they returned to the drawing room, but decided, 
as it was such a beautiful day, they would take 
a walk. They walked for some distance, then Sir 
Rupert said : 

“This is a beautiful country. It goes straight 
to my heart.” 

‘T am not a lover of nature,” she replied. 

“Your nature then is not developed. It must 
steal into your heart like any other love. You 
are not happy, Mrs. Gale. I know it by a hun- 
dred signs which are no doubt invisible even to 
your husband.” 

“Why should we not for once try to make 
things clear?” said she. “I think I am proof 
against any pain you can give me in that way. 
So say what you please.” 

ii6 


AGNES CHESWICK 


‘‘How came you to be married?” asked he. 

“I think, said she, “you will find the whole 
story very interesting. You will also see my 
character in a new light. I know you do not 
think I was capable of such madness. I never 
thought it would turn out as it has. If we could 
see only into the future we would probably go 
mad under our impending doom. I have had a 
‘deep distress' and it has humanized me. I fancy 
when you knew me I was not human. My eye 
was ever on myself. I doubt whether I had a 
soul. Now my soul has been born with bitter 
pain and suffering. When you first asked me 
to marry you I refused, because I did not love 
you. I thought a marriage where the love was 
only on one side could not fail to be unhappy. 
I came home soon after, and that very day I met 
my husband. He scarcely noticed me, but paid 
all his attentions to Agnes. In those days I was 
accustomed to see every man at my feet, and my 
pride was hurt that he should refuse to come. 
So I determined to conquer him. He interested 
me and he irritated me, but soon I was in love 
with him and I lost no time in telling Agnes. 

“Then it all came out. Agnes and he were en- 
gaged, and had been for a long time. When 


117 


AGNES CHESWICK 


Agnes told me my heart was on fire. I had 
failed, but I determined to be revenged from that 
day. I did my best to cultivate my love and make 
it grow. I knew my time would come. You 
were at the wedding, and I again refused you, 
because I loved him. They were absent almost 
a year, and when they returned I set myself to 
turn Forest’s affections from his wife. I invited 
myself into their home. Agnes saw why I had 
come, and fearing that I should betray myself to 
Forest, she went away. You know the rest; the 
horrible fate she met !” 

‘‘Yes, a horrible death!” said Sir Rupert in a 
low tone. 

Eleanor went on : “Forest was now free, and 
I bent all my powers to win him, but in vain. 
My beauty did not move him, but I loved him 
more. I feared I was going mad, and at last I 
told him. He did his duty. We were married. 
At first I thought it would be enough to be his 
wife, but I now see the empty days stretching 
into eternity, and I know I have thrown away 
every chance of being happy.” 

“Do you mean,” said Sir Rupert, “that you no 
longer love your husband?” 

“Yes, he has starved my love. A woman’s 


ii8 


AGNES CHESWICK 


love cannot live on nothing; it must be fed and 
nourished. Nothing I did touched him. I tried 
to interest myself in his pursuits. I saw he 
thought I was intruding. After that I led a life 
of ceaseless gayety. He seemed happier without 
me. I tried to make him jealous of me, but that 
fell flat. After I had made desperate efforts to 
kindle his love and failed, mine died. What I 
took for love was only pride and self-will. Now 
that illusion has gone and I have nothing left. 
The bed upon which I lie is of my own making.” 

‘T thank you for your confidence in telling me 
this,” said Sir Rupert; “but things will change. 
He must see you are unhappy. He is not blind.” 

“The position,” said Eleanor, “is unchange- 
able.” 

They walked home slowly and in silence. It 
was almost dark when they entered the study. 

“I seldom come here,” said she. “I have 
nothing in common with Forest. If I only knew 
what will be the next thing to happen. To know 
the future and forget the past. That would be 
rest and peace. Memory and remorse ; these two 
phantoms cannot be shut out of my life. Life to 
me seems almost unendurable.” 

She was speaking in a low, longing voice, her 

119 


AGNES CHESWICK 


eyes fixed upon the fire, while her face wore an 
expression of suffering, which moved Sir Ru- 
pert’s heart. Words of passion burned upon his 
tongue. A great desire to take her away and 
wrap her in his own love filled his heart. He 
looked moodily into the fire. At last she spoke : 

‘‘I myself bound my burden on my back. The 
wrong was in my own nature and I could not 
change it. I am its slave forever. So I say those 
who bring about their own misfortunes are more 
to be pitied than others, for they live in a hell of 
self-blame. For people with my character no 
such thing as happiness is possible. What a 
good thing it would be for humanity if all the 
unhappy people were out of the world.” 

“You take too gloomy a view, Mrs. Gale,” said 
Sir Rupert. “Your life will not be as you antici- 
pate ; a change must come.” 

“Why should a change come? One day goes 
on just like the day before. I expect no gifts 
from chance.” 

“Has all this,” said he, “destroyed your belief 
in love?” 

She shook her head as she replied: “It has 
not. I have told myself over and over again that 
it is a phantom, a myth, but I do not convince my- 


120 


AGNES CHESWICK 


self. The more certainly do I feel that it does 
exist somewhere^, but I have missed it.” 

"‘Would to God,” said Sir Rupert, ‘T had mar- 
ried you. I have never loved any woman but 
you, and I shall love you all my life. Oh, I could 
have waited years and years if in the end I knew 
you did understand and could rise to the level of 
my love. I know my love would at last have 
created yours.” 

“Don’t you see,” said she, “how I failed in that 
expectation ?” 

His eyes were moist with tears. Oh ! to spare 
her every sorrow, all suf¥ering! How gladly 
would he have endured the cruelest price. But he 
knew that was impossible. Every soul must learn 
its own lesson for itself. It was time to bring 
their talk to a close, he felt. He did not want to 
prolong her distress. He had told her all. 

“Come,” said he, “into the drawing room and 
sing for me.” 

At that moment came a tap at the door and a 
telegram was handed to him. The expression of 
his face as he read it caused her to say: “Have 
you bad news ?” 

“No,” said he, “but very annoying news. Busi- 

I2I 


AGNES CHESWICK 


ness calls me away at once, and I am unwilling 
to leave you so sad and lonely.’^ 

“You have been a comfort to me,” said Elea- 
nor, “but I can only say to you, business before 
pleasure.” 

In the afternoon she sat alone over her fancy 
work. She passed her whole life in mental re- 
view. She saw herself a petted child; later a 
beautiful and admired woman, with the world at 
her feet. She refused all offers of marriage. 
Now she sat alone an unloved wife. Oh, this 
loveless life; how long will it last? Forever? 
It could not. Already the presence of her hus- 
band was disagreeable to her. He had been away 
a day and a half. Soon he would return. She 
would rise to welcome him, and receive a kiss 
like a snowflake, light and cold. Then they would 
sit the remainder of the evening trying to keep 
up a conversation. 

“Oh, what will be the end?” said she. There 
was a sound of footsteps and soon Forest came 
into the room. As Eleanor turned and saw her 
husband’s face she was struck dumb with amaze- 
ment. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

TRUE LOVE. 

Forest closed the door and came forward. His 
face was pale and grave, as he gave only a slight 
pressure to his wife’s outstretched hand. 

“Did you hear startling news ?” said she. 

“I heard,” said he, “a very strange story which 
I will repeat to you. A year ago a young and 
beautiful girl was dangerously hurt in a railway 
accident. She was taken in and cared for by 
Mrs. Maybie. She was ill for months, and the 
result was a complete loss of her memory for a 
time. When she recovered, one day as she was 
glancing over the newspapers, she saw an account 
of the second marriage of her husband.” 

“Then she was married?” said Eleanor. 

“She was. And her husband married in ig- 
norance, supposing her to be dead.” 

She arose to her feet. Her color came and 
went rapidly. There was a strange brilliancy in 
her eyes. 


J23 


AGNES CHESWICK 


“Tell me her name.” 

“Agnes Gale,” said he. Then she staggered, 
fell on the couch and sobbed hysterically. 

“Forgive me,” he said. “I have been too 
rough.” 

“Thank God,” said she. 

“One would think you were glad, Eleanor.” 

“Glad! Is the man wha thought he was in 
prison for life no more than glad when he sees 
the prison gates open and is told that he is free ?” 
Tears and smiles were upon her face. She was 
trembling all over. This time Forest spoke : 

“I am glad to see you happy, but will you ex- 
plain?” 

“Sit down,” said she, “and I will confess. I 
thought at one time I loved you and acted with- 
out thought or prudence, but it was less than love. 
I have paid very dearly for my mistake. Your in- 
difference froze my heart. I fought long and 
hard to keep my love, such as it was, but day by 
day it grew less, till at last there was nothing 
left. For some time my life has been like a heavy 
chain around me, dragging me down. Now I am 
free.” 

Forest took her hand and kissed it, as he said : 
“You blame yourself too much. The responsi- 


124 


AGNES CHESWICK 


bility of what you have suffered rests rather upon 
me. I ought to have saved you from yourself. 
As a man, and the stronger of the two, I ought 
to have done it. I see now that we both made a 
mistake, but the chief blame rests upon me. My 
heart aches when I think of what your life must 
have been. I have been blind, wrapped up in my 
own loss and unhappiness. I can only say for- 
give me.” 

“Forest,” said she, “without consideration for 
you I demanded your whole life and you gave it 
to me. Did I not tell you I loved you, that my 
love was consuming my very soul ? Could I ex- 
pect for one moment that your imagination could 
reach so far as to suppose I was discontented with 
your gift. No; the fault is mine, but I have not 
been brave enough to bear it. Everyone has some 
hidden corner in his character into which no one 
ever penetrates, sometimes not even himself. I 
am so made that after having asked you to marry 
me I could not say let us part.” 

“If I had only used a little common sense,” said 
he, “I might have spared us both much suffering. 
At whatever present pain to yourself, I ought to 
have shown you that you did not, could not, love 


125 


AGNES CHESWICK 


me/’ He passed his hand over his forehead with 
a sigh. Eleanor roused herself and said: 

‘'Why did not Agnes declare herself long ago ; 
why did she wait all these months?” 

“She was very ill. Picture to yourself, if after 
having been separated from your husband for 
nearly a year, when just on the eve of writing 
to him, you should pick up a paper and see his 
marriage in it, married within a few months of 
your supposed death.” 

Eleanor began to grow uneasy. She was afraid 
her husband would demand full reckoning. She 
could bear it no longer, and rose, saying : “We 
have been talking a long time. I am tired. If 
you don’t mind I will say good night.” 

He took her hand, saying: “Good night; we 
can finish to-morrow.” 

In the drawing room at The Elms the next 
morning Eleanor and Sir Rupert were seated. He 
had come about an hour before, and it depends 
on her whether he remains. Sir Rupert was 
speaking. “Eleanor, believe me, you will do well 
to trust your happiness into my hands.” 

“Nay,” said she. “My experience has not been 
encouraging. I do not think I shall marry again. 
A burnt child dreads the fire.” 


126 


AGNES CHESWICK 


“If you will only have faith in my love/^ said 
he, “I swear it will not change.” 

“I do think you are constant,” said she, “but 
men do not know what marriage is to a woman.” 

Sir Rupert sat in silence, only from time to 
time stealing a glance at her beautiful face. She 
was more beautiful even than before. A human 
soul looked out of her eyes and showed itself in 
her expression. At last she arose and said: “I 
am so weak I cannot decide.” 

“Let me decide,” said he, gently. “If you re- 
fuse me this time I shall go away, never to re- 
turn.” 

“In saying that,” said she, “I must say, if I 
thought I should never see you again I would be 
very unhappy.” 

“Darling,” said he, “It is all with you. Come 
to me, trust me, and I will never leave you.” 

She leaned her head on his shoulder, gave him 
her hand, and he raised it to his lips. 

Months had gone by since Agnes had returned 
to Sunnyside. They had flown quickly, and as 
Forest saw her rapid return to her former health 
he was blissfully happy, and in their continual 
companionship their love seemed to grow more 
and more devoted. The eventful day came when 


127 


AGNES CHESWICK 


Eleanor left the altar the lawful wife of Sir Ru- 
pert. With her second marriage came fresh 
loveliness, and a grander phase to the superb 
comeliness in the face and form of the luxurious 
Eleanor, and, too, there came with it an unswerv- 
ing devotion and fidelity to the man whose name 
she bore. 

The worldling’s heart blossomed out with the 
pure bloom of wifely love. Her affection for the 
proud man who claimed her was the first and only 
good which her life had produced. With a past 
none knew so well as herself, she had found her 
greatest happiness in her second love, which was 
her only true love. 


(the end) 


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